
Mi ■h'?6 



THE 



AMERICAN 
POPULAR SPEAKER: 



DESIGNED FOR THE USE OP 



SCHOOLS, LYCEUMS, TEMPERANCE SOCIETIES, 
ETC., ETC. 

AUTHOR OF "a HISTORY OF THE PENNSYLVANIA RESERVE CORPS ;'^ 

"SCHOOL HISTORY OF PENNSYLVANIA;" ^'HISTORY 

OF NEW JERSEY," ETC., ETC. 




m 



PHILADELPHIA: 

PORTER & COATES, 

822 Chestnut Street. 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by 

J. R. SYPHER, 

in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 

MBARS & DCSENBERY, STEREOTYPERS. SHERMAN k CO., PRINTERS, 






CONTENTS. 



Insteuctions, 



PAGE 

9 



PART I. 



SELECTIONS IN PEOSE. 

Address at Gettysburg, Abraham Lincoln, 

Address to the Chamber of Peers, Trelat, .... 

Against Catiline, Cicero, .... 

Amendments to the Constitution, Patrick Henry, . 

America, Charles Phillips, 

American History, Gulian C. Yerplanck, 

American Influence, George S. Hilliard, 

American Petitions, Lord Chatham, , 

Appeal to Arms, John Dickinson, . 

Belief in God's Existence, Jonathan jMaxcy. 

Birthday of Washington, Rufus Choate, 

Brutus ou the Death of Caesar, Shakspeare, . . 

Capital Punishment, Edward Livingston, 

Catiline Denounced, Cicero, . . . 

Charter of Runnymede. The, Lord Chatham, 

Christian Responsibility, Eliphalet Nott, 

Classical Learning, Joseph Story, 

Common Things Important, Robert C. Winthrop, 

Congress of 1776, The, Williajvi Wirt, 

Constitution a Bill of Rights, Alexander Hamilton, 

Constitution of the United States, Alexander Hamilton, 

Culture the Result of Labor, . , William Wirt, 

Defence of America, Lord Chatham, 

Drinking Usages of Society, The, Alonzo Potter, 

Duelling, , Eliphalet Nott, 



100 
129 
107 
77 
33 
152 
64 
93 
75 
26 
52 
76 

4^2 

m 

87 
136 
19 
41 
125 
91 
31 
17 
113 
79 



(iii) 



IV CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Eloquence, Lewis Cass, 13 

Emptiness of Earthly Glory, Francis Waylani>, .... 126 

Eulogium on Franklin, Mirabeau, 61 

Eulogy on Calhoun, Danjel Webster, .... 81 

Eulogy on Franklin, Abbe Fauchet, 90 

Eulogy on Hamilton, Eliphalet Nott, 72 

Evils of the Liquor Traffic, Lyman Beecher, 149 

Examples of Patriotism in our own History, . . . Edward Everett, .... 154 

Famine in Ireland, The, Sargent S. Prentiss, ... 68 

First Gun of Freedom, The, Edward Everett, .... 49 

Formation of Character, 155 

French Revolution, The, Sir James Mackintosh, . . 91 

Fruits of Intemperance, Charles McIlvaine, ... 142 

Future Glory of America, The, . David Ramsay, 80 

Glorious New England, Sargent S. Prentiss, ... 101 

Glory of Christianity, The, John McLaurin, 25 

Gospel for the Poor, John M. Mason, 26 

Guilty Conscience betrays itself, A, Daniel Webster, .... 27 

Heavens proclaim the Deity, The, Ormsby McK. Mitchell, . . 106 

Illustrious Trio of Statesmen, The, George S. Hilijard, ... 84 

Important Truth, The, H. Melvill, 29 

Impressment of American Sailors, Henry Clay, 55 

Independence Monument, Kenneth Rayner, .... 42 

Intemperance, Lord Chesterfield, .... 105 

Intemperance and Abstinence, Robert South, 147 

Intemperate Husband, The, W. B. Sprague, 103 

International Sympathies, Francis Wayland, .... 141 

Ireland, Daniel O'Connell, .... 30 

John Locke and William Penn, George Bancroft, .... 94 

Kepler's Discovery of a Third Law, Ormsby McK, Mitchell, . . 67 

Knowledge without Religion, H. S. Pinckney, 23 

Lafayette's Visit to America, Sargent S. Prentiss, ... 54 

Landing of the Mayflower, The, Edward Everett, .... 138 

Last Moments of Copernicus, Edward Everett, .... 123 

Last Speech, Robespierre, 110 

Liberty the meed of Intelligence, John C. Calhoun, .... 43 

Life is an Education, Frederick W. Robertson, . 60 

Liquor Dealers and the Traffic, . Christian Examiner, . 150 

Man's Immortality, William Prout, 73 

Marie Antoinette, . . , Edmund Burke, 128 

Mind, the Glory of Man, D. Wise, 20 

Modern Toleration, Thomas F. Marshall, . . . 8d 



CONTENTS. y 

PAGE 

. Natioual G-reatness, John Bright, 157 

Xation's Sure Defence, The, 158 

Obstacles to Christiauitv, The, Stephen Colwell, .... 53 

Office of a Judge, Sydney SiniH, 95 

On Being Convicted of Treason, Robert Emmett. 114 

On Being Found Guilty of Treason, Thomas Francis Meagher, . 118 

On his Retirement from the Senate, Hentiy Clay, ...... 86 

On Recognising the Independence of Greece, . . . Henry Clay, 40 

Orator's Art, The, . , John Quincy Ada^is, ... 14 

Orator's Gift, The, Abbe Bautain, 15 

Parliamentary Innovations, ......... M. Beaufoy, 127 

Patriotism a Christian Virtue, T. D. Huntington, .... 102 

Patriotism of the West, Henry Clay, 70 

Paul's Defence before Agrippa, Bible 143 

Penn's Motive, Alonzo Potter, 45 

Peroration against Warren Hastings, Edmund Burke, 133 

Perpetual Yigilance the Price of Liberty, .... John C. Calhoun, .... 65 

Progress of Discovery, The, Edward Everett, .... 130 

Progress of Total Abstinence, Charles P. McIlvaine, . . 140 

Reign of Terror, The, Lord Brougham, .... 92 

Religious Liberty, William Gaston, .... 35 

Reply to ^schines, Demosthenes, 88 

Reply to Sir Robert Walpole, William Pitt, 63 

Republican Government, Joseph Story, 46 

Republics, Hugh S. Legare, .... 59 

Rienzi's Last Appeal to the Romans, Sir Edward Lytion Bulwer, 122 

Righteousness exalteth a Nation, William Bacon Stevens, . . 47 

Ruined Family, The, Washington Irving, . . . 104 

Rule of American Conduct, George Washington, ... 73 

Science and Religion, Edward Hitchcock, . . . ]32 

Science and ReUgion, Mark Hopkins, 38 

Second Inaugural Address, Abraham Lincoln, .... 96 

Settlement of Pennsylvania, The, Hentiy D. Gelpin, .... 69 

Slavery of Intemperance, . Dantel Kimball, 148 

Sophistry of Infidels, The, Robert Hall, 58 

Spartacus to the Gladiators, Elijah Kellogg, 120 

Studies, Lord Bacon, 18 

Switzerland an Example, Patrick Henry, 73 

Teetotalism, Eliphalet Nott, 135 

Tolerant Christianity the Law of the Land, . . . Daniel Webster, .... 56 

True Secret of Oratory, The, Daniel Webster, .... 67 

Truth, Lord Bacon, 32 



VI 



CONTENTS. 



TTnited States and the Cherokees, The, William Wirt, . 

Unity of our Country Caleb Gushing, . 

Universal Empire of Death, The, D. S. Doggett, 

Use of Knowledge, Cardinal Wiseman, 

Value of Knowledge, H. L. Pinckney, . 

Value of a Navy, James A. Bayard, 

War and Peace, Charles Sumner, 

Washington, Charles Phillips, 

Washington, Henry Lee, . , 

Water, Thomas F. Marshall, 

What can be done ? Lyman Beecher, . 

Woman and Temperance, Moses Ballou, 

Wonders of the Dawn, Edward Everett, 



PAGE 

109 

160 

99 

78 

22 

85 

37 

50 

62 

151 

145 

137 

16 



PART 11. 



SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 



PAGE 
. 163 

. 181 

. 195 
. 197 



Address to the Ocean, Lord Byron 

Antony's Address to the Romans on the Death of) 

} William Shakspeare, . . 
Caesar, i 

Arnold Winkelried, James Montgomery, . . 

American Flag, The, J. Rodman Drake, . . . 

After the Battle, 224 

"Am I my Brother's Keeper?" Edwards, 227 

Barbara Erietchie, John G. Whittier, .... 172 

Bells, The, Edgar A. Pge, 191 

Baron's Last Banquet, The, Albert G. Greene, .... 202 

Beautiful Snow, . John W. Watson, .... 207 

Bright Side, The, 211 

Bingen on the Rhine, • • • Mrs. Caroline Norton, . . 212 

Burial of Moses, The, Cecil Frances Alexander, . 230 

Bridge of Sighs, Thomas Hood, 233 

Birth of Green Erin, The, • • • 241 

Battle of Waterloo, The, Lord Byron, 261 

Bugle Song, Alfred Tennyson, .... 299 

Closing Year, The, George D. Prentice, ... 164 

Cold Water, Lydia H. Sigourney, ... 180 

Charge of the Light Brigade, Alfred Tennyson, .... 205 



CONTENTS. vii 

PAGE 

Cato's Soliloquy on Immortality, Joseph Addison, 226 

Charge at Waterloo, Walter Scott, 236 

Catiline's Defiance, George Croly, 253 

Children, The, Charles Dickinson, .... 292 

Closing Scene, T. Buchanan Read, .... 310 

Deacon's Masterpiece, The, Ouver W. Holmes, .... 280 

E Pluribus Unum, G. W. Cutter, 176 

Fountain, The, Jas. Russell Lowell, ... 167 

Fireman, The, Robert T. Conrad, .... 269 

Fisherman's Song, The, 274 

Fall of Warsaw, 1794, Thomas Campbell, .... 300 

Heart of the War, The, 184 

Ivry, a Song of the Huguenots, T. B. Macaulay, 251 

Icarus ; or the Peril of Borrowed Plumes, .... John G. Saxe, 277 

Keep it Before the People, A. J. H. Duganne, .... 285 

Lines on a Skeleton, 264 

*' Look not upon the Wine when it is Red," . . . Nathaniel P, Willis, . . . 276 

Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers, Felicia Hemans, 286 

Labor is Worship, Frances S. Osgood, .... 288 

Lochinvar, Walter Scott, 305 

Monterey, Charles F. Hoffman, . . . 168 

Maddening Bowl, 240 

Maud Muller, . , John G. Whittier, .... 256 

Marco Bozzaris, Fitz Greene Halleck, . . 302 

New Year, The, Alfred Tennyson, .... 171 

Not on the Battle-Field, John Pierpont, 188 

No Sect in Heaven, E. H. J. Cleveland, . . . 265 

Nothing but Leaves, 263 

Night Before Christmas, The, Clement C. Moore, .... 307 

Night After Christmas 308 

Old Clock on the Stairs, The, Henry W. Longfellow, . . 169 

Old Tubal Cain, Charles Mackay, .... 199 

Psalm of Marriage, Ph(ebe Gary, 179 

Pauper's Death-Bed, Caroline Bowles Southey, . 255 

Removal, The, 194 

Rienzi's Address, Mary Russell Mitford, . . 201 

Response to "Beautiful Snow," A, Sarah J. Hancock, .... 209 

Romance of Nick Van Stann, John G. Saxe, 222 

Raven, The, Edgar A. Poe, 243 

Revolutionary Rising, The, T. Buchanan Read, .... 272 

Seminole's Reply, The, G. W. Patten, 175 

Soldier's Dream, The, Thomas Campbell, .... 178 



Viii CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Sleeping Sentinel, The, Frances Haes Janvier, . . 218 

Sheridan's Ride, T. Buchanan Read, .... 238 

Shylock to Antonio, William Shakspeare, . . . 240 

Song of the Huskers, John G. Whittier, .... 249 

Stranger on the Sill, The, T. Buchanan Read, .... 260 

Seven Ages of Man, The, William Shakspeare, . . . 263 

Student, The, 289 

Shamus O'Brien, J. Sheridan Le Fanu, . . . 294 

To Sign— or Not, 210 

Through Death to Life, Henry Harbaugh, .... 216 

Village Schoolmaster, Oliver Goldsmith, .... 284 

Wanted, a Minister's Wife, 214 

Woman's Answer on being accused of being a Maniac on the Subject of Intemperance, 247 

Ye may Drink, if ye list, Pease, 278 



PART III. 
dialogues. 

PAGE 

All for Good Order, D. P. Page, 315 

Bob Sawyer's Party, Charles Dickens, .... 381 

Cardinal's Exculpation, The, Sir Edward Lytton Bulwer, 325 

Conjugal Quarrels, Richard B. Sheridan, . . . 377 

Country Squire, The, Dance, 345 

Family Obstinacy, Richard B. Sheridan, . . . 842 

Nothing in it, Charles Mathews, . . . . 328 

Old Fickle and Tristram Fickle, J. T. Allingham, .... 330 

Old Still-House— Closed for ever, J. R. Stpher, 359 

Quarrel Adjusted, The, Richard B. Sheridan, . . . 374 

Sam Weller's Account of an Election, Charles Dickens, .... 369 

Sam Weller as a Witness, Charles Dickens, .... 371 

Sold out and Bought in, J. R. Sypher, 361 

Squeers at the Inn, Charles Dickens, .... 383 

Trial Scene from " Merchant of Venice," William Shakspeare, ... 337 

The Will, Anon., 334 



PRACTICAL INSTRUCTIONS. 



I. Select an exercise in length, sentiment, and style of composi- 
tion adapted to the time and place where it is to be spoken, and in 
sympathy with your own feelings. The shortest pieces are best for 
all ordinary occasions. 

II. Study the selection carefully so as to master the spirit of the 
author. After that commit it to memory. Make the language, 
word for word, and the sentiment throughout wholly your own. 

III. Repeat the piece aloud, frequently, giving the proper sound 
of every letter, syllable, and word a clear and distinct utter- 
ance. Articulation, accent, emphasis, and inflection, as learned in 
the reading lessons, will be applied with ease and correctness after 
the language and spirit of the text have been mastered. 

ly. Walk upon the stage with ease and naturalness, as you 
would walk across your own private room. Bow to the audience 
as you would to an acquaintance on the street. Stand in an easy, 
graceful position. Avoid stiffness. 

y. Speak as if you wished to convince each person in the room 
that every word uttered was your own, and every sentiment true 
and of public importance. 

yi. Feel as you would wish to speak, for you will surely speak 

as you feel. 

(ix) 



X PRACTICAL INSTRUCTIONS. 

VII. Begin calmly and deliberately — avoid bombast. 

VIII. Consider yourself, as far as possible, in the place of the 
author of the piece you are speaking. For example : in the case 
of Cicero against Catiline, imagine the scene in the Roman Senate, 
when Cicero, as consul, had convened the senators in the most sacred 
chamber on Capitoline Hill to take counsel as to what should 
be done to defend the Eepublic against the conspirators. When 
Cicero rose to address the Senate, to his great astonishment, he saw 
Catiline, the chief conspirator, and many of his associates present. 
In place, therefore, of addressing the Senate, he turned upon the 
traitor senator, and with the full power of his wonderful eloquence 
denounced him, revealed the plans of his conspiracy to the Senate, 
and warned him of the dire punishment that would surely overtake 
him. The youth attempting to speak an extract from this oration, 
should study this scene and fire his soul with the patriotic indigna- 
tion that burned in the breast of the great Roman orator, and he 
will not fail to speak with effect. The spirit of any piece will be 
best understood by a careful study of the circumstances under 
which it was originally produced. 



PEOSE SELECTIONS. 



THE 

AMERICA! POPULAR SPEAKER. 
PROSE SELECTIONS. 

ELOQUENCE.— Qa^^, 

"What country ever offered a nobler theatre for the display 
of eloquence than our own ? From the primary assemblies of 
the people, where power is conferred, and may be retained, to 
the national legislature, where its highest attributes are depo- 
sited and exercised, all feel and acknowledge its influence. 

The master spirits of our father-land, they who guided the 
councils of England in her career of prosperity and glory, 
whose eloquence was the admiration of their contemporaries, as 
it will be of posterity, were deeply imbued with classical learn- 
ing. They drank at the fountain and not at the stream, and 
they led captive the public opinion of the empire, and asserted 
their dominion in the senate and the cabinet. 

Nor have we been wanting in contribution to the general 
stock of eloquence. In our legislative assemblies, at the bar, 
and in the pulpit, many examples are before us, not less cheer- 
ing in the rewards they offer than in the renown which follows 
them. And if our lamps are lighted at the altar of ancient 
and modern learning, we may hope that a sacred fire will be 
kept burning, to shed its influence upon our institutions, and 
the duration of the Republic. 

But after all, habits of mental and moral discipline are the 
first great objects in any system of instruction, public or private. 
2 (13) 



14 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

The value of education depends far less upon varied and exten- 
sive acquirements than upon the cultivation of just powers of 
thought, and the general regulation of the faculties of the 
understanding. That it is not the amount of knowledge, but 
the capacity to apply it, which promises success and usefulness 
in life, is a truth that cannot be too often inculcated by in- 
structors and recollected by pupils. 

If youth are taught how to think, they will soon learn what 
to think. Exercise is not more necessary to a healthful state 
of the body than is the employment of the various faculties of 
the mind to mental efficiency. The practical sciences are as 
barren of useful products as the speculative, where faces only 
are the objects of knowledge, unless the understanding is 
habituated to a continued process of examination and reflection. 

No precocity of intellect, no promise of genius, no extent of 
knowledge, can be weighed in the scale with those acquisitions. 
But he who has been the object of such sedulous attention, and 
the subject of such a course of instruction, may enter upon the 
great duties of life with every prospect of an honorable and a 
useful career. His armor is girded on for battle. However 
difficult the conjuncture in which he may be called on to act, 
he is prepared for whatever may betide him. 



THE ORATOR'S ART.— J. Q. Adams. 

The eloquence of the college is like the discipline of a 
review. The art of war, we are all sensible, does not consist in 
manoeuvres on a training-day; nor the steadfastness of the 
soldier in the hour of battle, in the drilliag of his orderly ser- 
geant. Yet the superior excellence of the veteran army is 
exemplified in nothing more forcibly than in the perfection of 
its discipline. It is in the heat of action, upon the field of 
blood, that the fortune of the day may be decided by the 
exactness of manual exercise ; and the art of displaying a 
column or directing a charge may turn the balance of victory, 
and change the history of the world. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 15 

The application of these observations is as direct to the art 
of oratory as to that of war. The exercises to which you are 
here accustomed are not intended merely for the display of the 
talents you have acquired. They are instruments put into your 
hands for future use. Their object is not barely to prepare 
you for the composition and delivery of an oration to amuse an 
idle hour on some public anniversary. It is to give you a due 
for the labyrinth of legislation in the public councils ; a spear 
for the conflict of judicial war in the public tribunals; a sword 
for the field of religious and moral victory in the pulpit. 



THE ORATOR'S GIFT-^Abb^ Bautain. 

Art may develop and perfect the talent of a speaker, but 
cannot produce it. The exercises of grammar and of rhetoric will 
teach a person how to speak correctly and elegantly ; but 
nothing can teach him to be eloquent, or give that eloquence 
which comes from the heart and goes to the heart. All the 
precepts and artifices on earth can but form the appearances or 
semblance of it. Now this true and natural eloquence which 
moves, persuades, and transports, consists of a soul and a body, 
like man, whose image, glory, and word it is. 

The soul of eloquence is the centre of the human soul itself, 
which, enlightened by the rays of an idea, or warmed and 
stirred by an impression, flashes or bursts forth to manifest, by 
some sign or other, what it feels or sees. This it is which gives 
movement and life to a discourse; it is like a kindled torch, or 
a shuddering and vibrating nerve. 

The body of eloquence is the language which it requires in 
order to speak, and which must harmoniously clothe what it 
thinks or feels, as a fine shape harmonizes with the spirit 
which it contains. The material part of language is learnt 
instinctively, and practice makes us feel and seize its delicacies 
and shades. The understanding, then, which sees rightly and 
conceives clearly, and the heart which feels keenly, find na- 



16 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

turally and without effort, the words and the arrangement of 
words most analogous to what is to be expressed. Hence the 
innate talent of eloquence, which results alike from certain 
intellectual and moral aptitudes, and from the physical consti- 
tution, especially from that of the senses and of the organs of 
the voice. 



TEE WONDERS OF TEE DA TFiV.— Everett. 

Much as we are indebted to our observatories for elevating 
our conceptions of the heavenly bodies, they present even to 
the unaided sight scenes of glory which words are too feeble to 
describe. I had occasion, a few weeks since, to take the early 
train from Providence to Boston ; and for this purpose rose at 
two o'clock in the morning. Everything around was wrapt in 
darkness and hushed in silence, broken only by what seemed at 
that hour the unearthly clank and rush of the train. It was a 
mild, serene, midsummer's night, — the sky was without a 
cloud, — the winds were whist. The moon, then in the last 
quarter, had just risen, and the stars shone with a spectral 
lustre but little affected by her presence. Jupiter, two hours 
high, was the herald of the day; the Pleiades just above the 
horizon shed their sweet influence in the east; Lyra sparkled 
near the zenith ; Andromeda veiled her newly-discovere^ glories 
from the naked eye in the south ; the steady Pointers, far be- 
neath the pole, looked meekly up from the depths of the north 
to their sovereign. 

Such was the glorious spectacle as I entered the train. As 
we proceeded, the timid approach of twilight became more 
perceptible ; the intense blue of the sky began to soften ; the 
smaller stars, like little children, went first to rest; the sister- 
beams of the Pleiades soon melted together; but the bright 
constellations of the west and north remained unchanged. 
Steadily the wondrous transfiguration went on. Hands of angels 
hidden from mortal eyes shifted the scenery of the heavens; 
the glories of night dissolved into the glories of the dawn. The 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 17 

blue sky now turned more softly gray ; the great watch-stars 
shut up their holy eyes ; the east began to kindle. Faint 
streaks of purple soon blushed along the sky ; the whole celes- 
tial concave was filled with the inflowing tides of the morning 
light, which came pouring down from above in one great ocean 
of radiance ; till at length, as we reached the Blue Hills, a 
flash of purple fire blazed out from above the horizon, and 
urned the dewy tear-drops of flower and leaf into rubies and 
diamonds. In a few seconds, the everlasting gates of the 
morning were thrown wide open, and the lord of day, arrayed 
in glories too severe for the gaze of man, began his state. 



CULTURE THE RESULT OF LABOR.— SNirt. 

The education, gentlemen, moral and intellectual, of every 
individual must be chiefly his own work. How else could it 
happen that young men, who have had precisely the same 
opportunities, should be continually presenting us with such 
diff'erent results, and rushing to such opposite destinies ? Difl'er- 
ence of talent will not solve it, because that diff'erence is very 
often in favor of the disappointed candidate. 

You will see issuing from the walls of the same college — nay, 
sometimes from the bosom of the same family, two young men, 
of whom the one shall be admitted to be a genius of high order, 
the other scarcely above the point of mediocrity ] yet you shall 
see the genius sinking and perishing in poverty, obscurity, and 
wretchedness ; while, on the other hand, you shall observe t\vQ 
mediocre plodding his slow but sure way up the hill of life, 
gaining steadfast footing at every step, and mounting, at length, 
to eminence and distinction, an ornament to his family, a 
blessing to his country. 

Now, whose work is this? Manifestly their own. Men are 
the architects of their respective fortunes. It is the fiat of fate 
from which no power of genius can absolve you. Genius, 
uuexei-ted, is like the poor moth that flutters around a candle 



18 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

till it scorches itself to death. If genius be desirable at all^ it 
is only of that great and magnanimous kind which, like the 
condor of South America, pitches from the summit of Chimbo- 
razo, above the clouds, and sustains itself at pleasure in that 
empyreal region, with an energy rather invigorated than weak- 
ened by the effort. 

It is this capacity for high and long-continued exertion, this 
vigorous power of profound and searching investigation, this 
careering and wide-spreading comprehension of mind, and those 
long reaches of thought, that 

'' Pluck bright honor from the pale-faced moon, 
Or dive into the bottom of the deep, 
Where fathom line could never touch the ground, 
And drag up drowned honor by the locks." 

This is the prowess, and these the hardy achievements, which 
are to enroll your names among the great men of the earth. 



STUDIES.— Lord Bacon. 



Studies serve for delight, for ornament, and for ability. 
Their chief use for delight is in privateness and retiring; for 
ornament, is in discourse ; and for ability, is in the judgment 
and disposition of business; for expert men can execute and 
perhaps judge of particulars, one by one; but the general 
counsels, and the plots and marshalling of affairs, come best 
from those that are learned. To spend too much time in 
studies, is sloth ; to use them too much for ornament, is affecta- 
tion ; to make judgment wholly by their rules, is the humor of 
a scholar; they perfect nature, and are perfected by experience 
— for natural abilities are like natural plants that need pruning 
by study; and studies themselves do give forth directions too 
much at large, except they be bounded in by experience. 
Crafty men contemn studies, simple men admire them, and 
wise men use them, for they teach not their own use ; but that 
is a wisdom without them and above them, won by observation. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 19 

Read not to contradict and confute, nor to believe and take for 
granted, nor to find talk and discourse, but to weigh and con- 
sider. Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, 
and some few to be chewed and digested : that is, some books 
are to be read only in parts; others to be read, but not 
curiously; and some few to be read wholly, and with diligence 
and attention. Some books also may be read by deputy, and 
extracts made of them by others; but that would be only in 
the less important arguments, and the meaner sort of books; 
else distilled books are, like common distilled waters, flashy 
things. Reading maketh a full man, conference a ready man, 
and writing an exact man; and, therefore, if a man write little, 
he had need of a great memory ; if he confer little, he had 
need have a present wit ; and if he read little, he had need have 
much cunoing, to seem to know that he doth not. Histories 
make men wise; poets, witty; the mathematics, subtle; natural 
philosophy, deep; moral, grave; logic and rhetoric, able to 
contend. 



CLASSICAL LEARNING.— Story. 

The importance of classical learning to professional education 
is so obvious that the surprise is, that it could ever have 
become matter of disputation. I speak not of its power in 
refining the taste, in disciplining the judgment, in invigorating 
the understanding, or in warming the heart with elevated 
sentiments ; but of its power of direct, positive, necessary 
instruction. 

There is not a single nation from the north to the south of 
Europe, from the bleak shores of the Baltic to the bright 
plains of immortal Italy, whose literature is not embedded in 
the very elements of classical learning. The literature of 
England is, in an emphatic sense, the production of her 
scholars ; of men who have cultivated letters in her universi- 
ties, and colleges, and grammar-schools ; of men who thought 
any life too short, chiefly because it left some relic of antiquity 



20 AMERICAN POPULAK SPEAKER. 

unmastered, and any other fame too humble, because it faded 
in the presence of Roman and Grecian genius. 

He who studies English literature without the lights of 
classical learning, loses half the charms of its sentiments and 
style, of its force and feelings, of its delicate touches, of its 
delightful allusions, of its illustrative associations. Who that 
reads the poetry of Gray, does not feel that it is the refinement 
of classical taste which gives such inexpressible vividness and 
transparency to his diction? Who that reads the concentrated 
sense and melodious versification of Dryden and Pope, does not 
perceive in them the disciples of the old school, whose genius 
was inflamed by the heroic verse, the terse satire, and the 
playful wit of antiquity ? Who that meditates over the strains 
of Milton, does not feel that he drank deep at 

'^ Siloa's brook, that flowed 
Fast by the oracle of God," — 

that the fires of his magnificent mind were lighted by coals 
from ancient altars ? 

It is no exaggeration to declare that he who proposes to 
abolish classical studies, proposes to render, in a great measure, 
inert and unedifying, the mass of English literature for three 
centuries ; to rob us of the glory of the past, and much of the 
instruction of future ages; to blind us to excellencies which 
few may hope to equal and none to surpass; to annihilate 
associations which are interwoven with our best sentiments, 
and give to distant times and countries a presence and reality, 
as if they were in fact his own. 



MIND THE GLORY OF MA K—Wis^. 

The mind is the glory of man. No possession is so pro- 
ductive of real influence as a highly cultivated intellect. 
Wealth, birth, and official station may and do secure to their 
possessors an external, superficial courtesy; but they never did, 
and they never can, command the reverence of the heart. It 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 21 

is only to the man of large and noble soul, to him who blends 
a cultivated mind with an upright heart, that men yield the 
tribute of deep and genuine respect. 

But why do so few young men of early promise, whose hopes, 
purposes, and resolves were as radiant as the colors of the rain- 
bow, fail to distinguish themselves? The answer is obvious; 
they are not willing to devote themselves to that toilsome cul- 
ture which is the price of great success. Whatever aptitude 
for particular pursuits nature may donate to her favorite 
children, she conducts none but the laborious and the studious 
to distinction. 

Great men have ever been men of thought as well as men 
of action. As the magnificent river, rolling in the pride of its 
mighty waters, owes its greatness to the hidden springs of the 
mountain nook, so does the wide-sweeping influence of distin- 
guished men date its origin from hours of privacy, resolutely 
employed in efforts after self-development. The invisible spring 
of self-culture is the source of every great achievement. 

Away, then, young man, with all dreams of superiority, 
unless you are determined to dig after knowledge, as men 
search for concealed gold. Remember, that every man has in 
himself the seminal principle of great excellence, and he may 
develop it by cultivation if he will try. Perhaps you are what 
the word calls j9oor. What of that? Most of the men whose 
names are as household words were also the children of poverty. 
Captain Cook, the circumnavigator of the globe, was born in a 
mud hut, and started in life as a cabin-boy. 

Lord Eldon, who sat on the woolsack in the British parlia- 
ment for nearly half a century, was the son of a coal merchant. 
Franklin, the philosopher, diplomatist, and statesman, was but 
a poor printer's boy, whose highest luxury, at one time, was 
only a penny roll, eaten in the streets of Philadelphia. Fergu- 
son, the profound philosopher, was the son of a half-starved 
weaver. Johnson, Goldsmith, Coleridge, and multitudes of 
others of high distinction, knew the pressure of limited circum- 
stances, and have demonstrated that poverty even is no insu- 
perable obstacle to success. 



22 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Up, then, young man, and gird yourself for the work of self- 
cultivation. Set a high price on your leisure moments. Thej 
are sands of precious gold. Properly expended, they will pro- 
cure for you a stock of great thoughts — thoughts that will fill, 
stir and invigorate, and expand the soul. Seize also on the 
unparalleled aids furnished by steam and type in this unequalled 
age. 

The great thoughts of great men are now to be procured at 
prices almost nominal. You can, therefore, easily collect a 
library of choice standard works. But above all, learn to reflect 
even more than you read. Without thought, books are the 
sepulchre of the soul, — they only immure it. Let thought and 
reading go hand in hand, and the intellect will rapidly increase 
in strength and gifts. Its possessor will rise in character, in 
power, and in positive influence. 



VALUE OF KNOWLEDGE.-R, L. Pinckney. 

What is it that unfolds the structure of the human frame, 
showing, indeed, how fearfully and wonderfully it is made, or 
has invested Surgery with the admirable precision and dexterity 
which it now exhibits, or that enables Medicine to conquer all 
the maladies to which mankind is subject, those plagues and 
pestilences alone excepted which seem destined by Providence 
to perform the office of special judgments, and to remain incura- 
ble scourges of the human race ? What is it that disarms the 
lightning of its power, elevates valleys and depresses hills, 
cleaves the ocean, and ascends the sky ? What is it that we 
behold in every elegant and useful art, in the diversified hues 
that attract the eye, in the dresses and decorations of our 
persons and our houses, in every implement of husbandry or 
war, in the subterraneous aqueduct, or the heaven-kissing 
monument, in the animated canvas, or speaking marble ? What 
are all these but the varied triumphs of the human mind ? 

And who can estimate their value ? To say nothing of that 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 23 

absolute state of barbarism, '^ when wild in woods the noble 
savage ran/' w^ho can measure the difference between the 
splendid illumination of the nineteenth century and that glim- 
mering condition of society ; when astrology assumed to regu- 
late events, and alchymy to transmute all other metals into 
gold; when ignorance was affrighted by an ignis fatuus, and 
comets and meteors were regarded as the immediate precursors 
of the dissolution of the world ] when science was considered 
synonymous with magic, and punished as the evidence of atro- 
cious crimes; when superstition occupied the seat of justice, 
and guilt or innocence was established by the righteous deci- 
sions of fire or water, or the infallible ordeal of military 
prowess? Science is, indeed, to the moral, what the great orb 
of day is to the natural world ; and as the extinction of the 
latter would necessarily be followed by universal darkness and 
decay, so, were art and science lost, society would inevitably 
relapse into the savagism from which it is their proud boast to 
have elevated and redeemed it. 



KNOWLEDGE WITHOUT RELIGION.— II, L. Pincknet. 

But what is knowledge without religion ? Of what avail 
will it be that thou make the voyage of life with favoring 
currents and propitious gales, if it only bring you at last to an 
undone eternity ? Of what avail will be all the honors and 
enjoyments of this transitory scene, if they are destined to 
terminate in that unending misery which no eloquence can 
soothe, no learning alleviate, no applause divert? What then 1 
Are you fond of roaming in the fair fields of literature, and can 
you not be persuaded to cultivate the sacred as well as the 
profane? Is there no flowery height but Helicon, no golden 
stream but Plermes ? Is there no virtue but in the dreams of 
Plato, no immortality but in the hopes of Socrates, no henven 
but P]lysium ? Have you no desire to explore the exquisite 
beauties of Lebanon or Carmel, or to drink of the pure water of 



24 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

^' Siloa's brook, that flows fast by the oracles of God" ? Is 
there nothing in the Bible that can enlarge your understand- 
ings, elevate your imaginations, or refine your tastes ? Has it 
no sublimity of conception, no richness of imagery, no power 
of description ? Has it nothing useful in ethics, or valuable in 
philosophy — nothing instructive as a history, or interesting as a 
system of religion — nothing elevated in its poetry, or affecting 
in its incidents, or important in its moral ? 

Have you determined to know no God, except he be found 
in the ancient mythology — no religion, unless it has been proved 
fabulous — no morality, unless it be notoriously defective as to 
the true springs of virtue and the true principjes of duty ? Are 
you only solicitous for the esteem of men, and utterly regardless 
of the opinion of your Maker, anxious to obtain earthly fame 
and wisdom, but caring nothing for ''that honor which cometh 
from on high," or for that knowledge which alone can " make 
you wise unto salvation'^ ? Can this be so ? Was it for this 
that you were educated here, and that you intend to prosecute 
the improvement of your minds ? Is it indeed the only object 
of your future lives, so to acquire everything useful and beau- 
tiful, except religion, that you may be decorated like victims 
for the sacrifice, and sink for ever, hke a richly-freighted bark, 
to the fathomless abyss of eternal woe ? Bear with me for a 
moment I Are you revelling in youthful vigor, and know you 
not that the domain of death is peopled with the young ? 

Do you anticipate a long career of activity and usefulness, 
and know you not that there is nothing more uncertain than the 
frail tenure of human existence ? Are you proud of your 
talents, glowing with the ardor of ambition, and longing for 
distinction in the race of life, and know you not that the most 
buoyant heart may soon be chilled by the icy touch of the 
destroyer, and the most eloquent tongue be hushed for ever iu 
^ the silent tomb ? 

*' Begin — be bold, and venture to be wise; 
He who defers this work from day to day 
Does on a river's bank expecting stay, 
Till the whole stream that stopped him shall be gone, 
Which runs, and, as it runs, for ever shall run on." 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 25 

THE GLORY OF CHRlSTIANITY.~lou^ xMcLaurin. 

Christianity communicates a glory to all other objects, 
accordiDg as they have any relation to it. It adorns the uni- 
verse; it gives a lustre to nature and to Providence; it is the 
greatest glory of this lower world, that its Creator was for 
awhile its inhabitant. A poor landlord thinks it a lasting honor 
to his cottage that he has once lodged a prince or emperor. 
With how much more reason may our poor cottage, this earth, 
be proud of it, that the Lord of glory was its tenant from His 
birth to His death ! yea, that he rejoiced in the habitable parts 
of it before it had a beginning, even from everlasting ! 

It is the glory of the world that He who formed it dwelt on 
it; of the air. that He breathed in it; of the sun, that it shone 
on Him : of the ground, that it bore him ; of the sea, that He 
walked on it ; of the elements, that they nourished Him ; of 
the waters, that they refreshed Him; of us men, that He lived 
and died among us, yea, that he lived and died for us ; that he 
assumed our flesh and blood, and carried it to the highest 
heavens, where it shines as the eternal ornament and wonder 
of the creation of Grod. It gives also a lustre to Providence It 
is the chief event that adorns the records of time, and enlivens 
the history of the universe. It is the glory of the various great 
lines of Providence, that they point at this as their centre ; that 
they prepared the way for its coming; that after its coming 
they are subservient to the ends of it, though in a way indeed 
to us at present mysterious and unsearchable. Thus we know 
that they either fulfil the promises of the crucified Jesus, or 
His threatenings ; and show either the happiness of receiving 
Him, or the misery of rejecting Him. 



BELIEF IN GOD'S EXISTENCE,— Jonathan Maxcy. 

*Never be tempted to disbelieve the existence of God, when 
everything around you proclaims it in a language too plain not 
3 



26 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

to be understood. Never cast your eyes on creation without 
having your souls expanded with this sentiment, " There is a 
God I^^ When you survey this globe of earth, with all its 
appendages — Avhen you behold it inhabited by numberless ranks 
of creatures, all moving in their proper spheres, all verging to 
their proper ends, all animated by the same great source of life, 
all supported at the same great bounteous table ; when you 
behold not only the earth, but the ocean and the air, swarming 
with living creatures, all happy in their situation — when you 
behold yonder sun darting a vast blaze of glory over the 
heavens, garnishing mighty worlds, and waking ten thousand 
songs of praise — when you behold unnumbered systems diffused 
through vast immensity, clothed in splendor, and rolling in 
majesty — when you behold these things, your affections will 
rise above all the vanities of time, your full souls will struggle 
with ecstasy, and your reason, passions, and feelings, all united, 
will rush up to the skies, with a devout acknowledgment of the 
wisdom, existence, power, and goodness of God. Let us behold 
Him, let us wonder, praise, adore. These things will make us 
happy. They will wean us from vice, and attach us to virtue. 



TEE GOSPEL FOR THE POOR.— John ^, Mason. 

From the remotest antiquity there have been, in all civilized 
nations, men who devoted themselves to the increase of know- 
ledge and happiness. Their speculations were subtile, their 
arguings acute, and many of their maxims respectable. But 
to whom were their instructions addressed ? To casual visitors, 
to selected friends, to admiring pupils, to privileged orders ! In 
some countries, and on certain occasions, when vanity was to be 
gratified by the acquisition of fame, their appearances were 
more public. For example, one read a poem, another a history, 
and a third a play, before the crowd assembled at the Olympic 
games. To be crowned there, was, in the proudest period of 
Greece, the summit of glory and ambition. But what did this, 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 27 

what did the mysteries of pagan worship, or what the lectures 
of pagan philosophy, avail the people? Sunk in ignorance, in 
poverty, in crime, the}? lay neglected. Age succeeded age, and 
school to school ; a thousand sects and systems rose, flourished, 
and fell ; but the degradation of the multitude remained. Not 
a beam of light found its way into their darkness, nor a drop 
of consolation into their cup. Indeed a plan of raising them 
to the dignity of rational enjoyment, and fortifying them against 
the disasters of life, was not to be expected : for as nothing can 
exceed the contempt in which they were held by the professors 
of wisdom ; so any human device, however captivating in theory, 
would have been worthless in fact. The most sagacious heathen 
could imagine no better means of improving them than the 
precepts of his philosophy. Now, supposing it to be ever so 
salutary, its benefits must have been confined to a very few; 
the notion that the bulk of mankind may become philosophers, 
being altogether extravagant. They ever have been, and, in 
the nature of things, ever must be, unlearned. Besides, the 
grovelling superstition and brutal manners of the heathen pre- 
sented insuperable obstacles. Had the plan of their cultivation 
been even suggested, especially if it comprehended the more 
abject of the species, it would have been universally derided, 
and would have merited derision, no less than the dreams of 
modern folly about the perfectibility of man. 



A GUILTY CONSCIENCE BETRAYS ITSELF,---Webster. 

An aged man, without an enemy in the world, in his own 
bouse, and in his own bed, is made the victim of a butcherly 
murder for mere pay. The fatal blow is given, and the victim 
passes, without a struggle or a motion, from the repose of sleep 
to the repose of death. It is the assassin^s purpose to make 
sure work. He explores the wrist for the pulse. He feels for 
it, and ascertains that it beats no longer. It is accomplished. 
The deed is done. He retreats, retraces his steps to the 
window, passes out through it as he came in, and escapes. He 



28 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

has done the murder — no eye has seen him, nor ear has heard 
him. The secret is his own — and it is safe. 

Ah, gentlemen, that was a dreadful mistake ! Such a secret 
can be safe nowhere. The whole creation of God has neither 
nook nor corner where the guilty can bestow it, and say it is 
safe. Not to speak of that eye which glances through all 
disguises, and beholds everything as in the splendor of noon, 
such secrets of guilt are never safe from detection, even by 
men. True it is, generally speaking, that " murder will out '^ 
True it is, that Providence hath so ordained, and doth so 
govern things, that those who break the great law of Heaven, 
by shedding man's blood, seldom succeed in avoiding discovery. 
Especially in a case exciting so much attention as this, dis- 
covery must come, and will come, sooner or later. A thousand 
eyes turn at once to explore every man, every thing, every 
circumstance connected with the time and place ; a thousand 
ears catch every whisper ] a thousand excited minds intensely 
dwell on the scene, shedding all their light, and ready to kindle 
the slightest circumstance into a blaze of discovery. 

Meantime, the guilty soul cannot keep its own secret. It is 
false to itself 3 or rather it feels an irresistible impulse of con- 
science to be true to itself. It labors under its guilty possesvsion, 
and knows not what to do with it. The human heart was not 
made for the residence of such an inhabitant. It finds itself 
preyed on by a torment, which it dares not acknowledge to God 
nor man. A vulture is devouring it, and it can ask no sym- 
pathy or assistance, either from heaven or earth. The secret 
which the murderer possesses soon comes to possess him ; and, 
like the evil spirits of which we read, it overcomes him, and 
leads him whithersoever it will. He feels it beating at his 
heart, rising to his throat, and demanding disclosure. He 
thinks the whole world sees it in his face, reads it in his eyes, 
and almost hears its workings in the very silence of his 
thoughts. It has become his master. It betrays his discretion, 
it breaks down his courage, it conquers his prudence. When 
suspicions from without begin to embarrass him, and the net of 
circumstance to entangle him, the fatal secret struggles with 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 29 

still greater violence to burst forth. It must be confessed — it 
will \}Q confessed — there is no refuge from confession but 
suicide — and suicide is confession ! 



THE IMPORTANT TRUTH— U. Melvill. 

If there be a cause of exultation, a motive for rejoicing, to a 
fallen creature, must it not be that he is still dear to his Maker, 
that notwithstanding all which he hath done to provoke Divine 
"^rath, and make condemnation inevitable, he is regarded witli 
unspeakable tenderness by the Almighty, watched over with a 
solicitude, and provided for at a cost which could not be ex- 
ceeded if he were the noblest and purest of the beings that 
throng the intelligent universe ? Teach me this, and you teach 
me everything. And this I learn from Christ crucified. I 
learn it indeed in a measure from the sun as he walks the 
firmament, and warms the earth into fertility. I learn it from 
the moon, as she gathers the stars into her train, and throws 
over creation her robe of soft light. I gather it from the 
various operations and provisions of nature, from the faculties 
of the mind, from the capacities of the soul. But if I am 
taught by these, the teaching after all is but imperfect and 
partial : they do indeed give testimony that man is not forgotten 
of God ; but the testimony would be equally given, were there 
the power of receiving it, to the brute creation, to the innume- 
rable animated tribes which are to perish at death. It is not a 
testimony, at least not a direct testimony, that we are cared for 
as immortal beings, and can be pardoned as sinful. It is not a 
testimony that He who is of purer eyes than to look upon 
iniquity, can receive into favor even the vilest of those who 
have thrown off allegiance, and manifest such an exuberance of 
loving-kindness towards the guilty, as will not leave the worst 
case without hope and without succor. Show us what will give 
such testimony as this, and sun, and moon, and the granaries 
of nature, and the workings of intellect will drop, in compari- 
son, their office of instructor. 
3^ 



30 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

IRELAND.— D. O'Connell. -^ 

I DO not rise to fawn or cringe to this House. I do not rise 
to supplicate you to be merciful toward the nation to which I 
belong; toward a nation which, though subject to England^ 
yet is distinct from it. It is a distinct nation. It has been 
treated as such by this country, as may be proved by history, 
and by seven hundred years of tyranny. I call upon this 
House, as you value the liberty of England, not to allow the 
present nefarious bill to pass. In it are involved the liberties 
of England, the liberty of the press, and of every other insti- 
tution dear to Englishmen. Against the bill I protest, in the 
name of the Irish people, and in the face of Heaven. 

I treat with scorn the puny and pitiful assertions, that 
grievances are not to be complained of; that our redress is not 
to be. agitated; for, in such cases, remonstrances cannot be too 
strong, agitation cannot be too violent, to show to the world 
with what injustice our fair claims are met, and under what 
tyranny the people suffer. 

The clause which does away with trial by jury ; what is it, 
if it is not the establishment of a revolutionary tribunal ? It 
drives the judge from his bench. It does away with that 
which is more sacred than the throne itself; that for which 
your king reigns, your lords deliberate, your commons assemble. 
If ever I doubted before of the success of our agitation for 
repeal, this bill, this infamous bill— the way in which it has 
been received by the House ; the manner in which its opponents 
have been treated ; the personalities to which they have been 
subjected; the yells with which one of them has this night 
been greeted — all these things dissipate my doubts,, and tell me 
of its complete and early triumph. 

Do you think those yells will be forgotten ? Do you suppose 
their echo will not reach the plains of my injured and insulted 
country; that they will not be whispered in her green valleys, 
and heard from her lofty hills ? O, they will be heard there ! 
Yes; and they will not be forgotten. The youth of Ireland 
will bound with indignation ; they will say, " We are eight 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 31 

millions ; and you treat us thus, as though we were no more 
to your country than the isle of Guernsey or of Jersey V^ 

I have done my duty. I stand acquitted to my conscience 
and my country. I have opposed this measure throughout. I 
now protest against it as harsh, oppressive, uncalled for, unjust; 
as establishing an infamous precedent, by retailing crime against 
crime ; as tyrannous, cruelly and vindictively tyrannous ! 



CONSTITUTION OF THE UNITED STATES.— Uamilt on. 

After all our doubts, our suspicions, and speculations on 
the subject of government, we must return at last to this 
important truth — that, when we have formed a constitution 
upon free principles, when we have given a proper balance to 
the different branches of administration, and fixed representa- 
tion upon pure and equal principles we may with safety furnish 
it with all the powers necessary to answer, in the most anriple 
manner, the purposes of government. The great desiderata 
are a free representation and mutual checks. When these are 
obtained, all our apprehensions of the extent of powers are 
unjust and imaginary. What, then, is the structure of this 
constitution ? One branch of the legislature is to be elected by 
the people — by the same people who choose your state repre- 
sentatives. Its members are to hold their office two years, and 
then return to their constituents. Here, sir, the people govern. 
Here they act by their immediate representatives. You have 
also a Senate, constituted by your state legislatures — by men in 
whom you place the highest confidence, — and forming another 
representative branch. Then, again, you have an executive 
magistrate, created by a form of election which merits universal 
admirati-on. 

In the form of this government, and in the mode of legisla- 
tion, you find all the checks which the greatest politicians and 
the best writers have ever conceived. What more can reason- 
able men desire ? Is there any one branch in which the whole 



32 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

legislative and executive powers are lodged ? No ! The legis- 
lative authority is lodged in three distinct branches^ properly 
balanced; the executive authority is divided between two 
branches ; and the judicial is still reserved for an independent 
body, who hold their office during good behavior. This organi- 
zation is so complex, so skilfully contrived, that it is next to 
impossible that an impolitic or wicked measure should pass the 
great scrutiny with success. Now, what do gentlemen mean by 
coming forward and declaiming against this government? Why 
do they say we ought to limit its powers, to disable it, and to 
destroy its capacity of blessing the people? Has philosophy 
suggested, has experience taught, that such a government ought 
not to be trusted with everything necessary for the good of 
society? Sir, when you have divided and nicely balanced the 
departments of government; when you have strongly connected 
the virtue of your rulers with their interests ; when, in short, 
you have rendered your system as perfect as human forms can 
be, — you must place confidence ; you must give power. 



TRUTH.— Loni) Bacon. 



The first creature of God, in the works of the days, was the 
light of the sense, the last was the light of reason, and his Sab- 
bath work, ever since, is the illumination of his Spirit. First 
he breathed light upon the face of the matter, or chaos, then he 
breathed light into the face of man ; and still he breatheth and 
inspireth light into the face of his chosen. The poet, that 
beautified the sect, that was otherwise inferior to the rest, saith 
yet excellently well, '' It is a pleasure to stand upon the shore, 
and to see ships tost upon the sea; sl pleasure to vStand in the 
window of a castle, and to see a battle, and the adventures 
thereof below ; but no pleasure is comparable to the standing 
upon the vantnge-ground of truth (a hill not to be commanded, 
and where the air is always clear and serene), and to see the 
errors, and wanderings, and mists, and tempests, in the vale 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 33 

below ;'' so always that this prospect be with pity, and not with 
swelling or pride. Certainly it is heaven upon earth to have a 
man's mind move in charity, rest in Providence, and turn upon 
the poles of truth. 

To pass from theological and philosophical truth to the truth 
of civil business, it will be acknowledged, even by those that 
practise it not, that clear and round dealing is the honor of man's 
nature, and that mixture of falsehood is like alloy in coin of 
gold or silver, which may make the metal work the better, but 
it embaseth it ; for these winding and crooked courses are the 
goings of the serpent, which goeth basely upon the belly, and 
not upon the feet. There is no vice that doth so cover a man 
with shame as to be found false and perfidious ; and therefore 
Montaigne saith prettily, when he inquired the reason why the 
word of the lie should be such a disgrace, and such an odious 
charge, "If it be well weighed, to say, that a man lieth, is as 
much as to say that he is brave towards God, and a coward 
towards man ; for a lie faces God, and shrinks from man." 
Surely the wickedness of falsehood and breach of faith cannot 
possibly be so highly expressed as in that it shall be the last 
peal to call the judgments of God upon the generations of men : 
it being foretold, that when '^ Christ cometh,'' he shall not '^ find 
faith upon earth." 



AMEEICA.—Veillips, 

Search creation round, where can you find a country that 
presents so sublime a view, so interesting an anticipation ? 
What noble institutions ! What a comprehensive policy ! What 
a wise equalization of every political advantage ! The oppressed 
of all countries, the martyrs of every creed, the innocent victim 
of despotic arrogance or superstitious frenzy, may there find 
refuge; his industry encouraged, his piety respected, his ambi- 
tion animated ; with no restraint but those laws which are the 
same to all, and no distinction but that which his merit may 

c 



34 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

originate. Who can deny tliat the existence of such a country 
presents a subject for human congratulation ! AVho can deny 
that its gigantic advancement offers a field for the most rational 
conjecture ! At the end of the very next century, if she pro- 
ceeds as she seems to promise, what a wondrous spectacle may 
she not exhibit ! Who shall say for what purpose mysterious 
Providence may not have designed her I Who shall say that 
when in its follies or its crimes the old world may have buried 
all the pride of its power, and all the pomp of its civilization, 
human nature may not find its destined renovation in the new ! 
when its temples and its trophies shall have mouldered into dust, — 
when the glories of its name shall be but the legend of tradition, 
and the light of its achievements live only in song ; philosophy 
will revive again in the sky of her Franklin, and glory rekindle 
at the urn of her Washington. Is this the vision of romantic 
fancy ? Is it even improbable ? Is it half so improbable as the 
events, which, for the last twenty years, have rolled like succes- 
sive tides over the surface of the European world, each erasing 
the impressions that preceded it? Many I know there are, who 
will consider this supposition as wild and whimsical; but they 
have dwelt with little reflection upon the records of the past. 
They have but ill observed the never-ceasing progress of national 
rise and national ruin. They form their judgment on the deceit- 
ful stability of the present hour, never considering the innumer- 
able monarchies and republics, in former days, apparently as 
permanent, their very existence become now the subject of 
speculation — I had almost said of scepticism. I appeal to 
history ! Tell me, thou reverend chronicler of the grave, can 
all the illusions of ambition realized, can all the wealth of an 
universal commerce, can all the achievements of successful 
heroism, or all the establishments of this world's wisdom, secure 
to empire the permanency of its possessions ? Alas, Troy 
thought so once; yet the land of Priam lives only in song! 
Thebes thought so once; yet her hundred gates have crumbled, 
and her very tombs are but as the dust they were vainlj^ intended 
to commemorate! So thought Palmyra — where is she! So 
thought Persepolis, and now — 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 35 

*' Yon waste, where roaming lions howl, 
Yon aisle, where moans the gray-eyed owl, 
Shows the proud Persian's great abode, 
Where sceptred once, an earthly god, 
His power-clad arm controlled each happier clime, 
Where sports the warbling muse, and fancy soars sublime." 

So thought the countries of Demosthenes and the Spartan ; 
yet Leonidas is trampled by the timid slave, and Athens insulted 
by the servile, mindless, and enervate Ottoman ! In his hurried 
march, Time has but looked at their imagined immortality, and 
all its vanities, from the palace to the tomb, have, with their 
ruins, erased the very impression of his footsteps ! The days 
of their glory are as if they had never been ; and the island that 
was then a speck, rude and neglected in the barren ocean, now 
rivals the ubiquity of their commerce, the glory of their arms, 
the fame of their philosophy, the eloquence of their senate, and 
the inspiration of their bards ! Who shall say, then, contem- 
plating the past, that England, proud and potent as she appears, 
may not one day be what Athens is, and the young America yet 
soar to be what Athens was ! Who shall say, when the Euro- 
pean column shall have mouldered, and the night of barbarism 
obscured its very ruins, that that mighty continent may not 
emerge from the horizon, to rule, for its time, sovereign of the 
ascendant. 

Such, sir, is the natural progress of human operations, and 
such the unsubstantial mockery of human pride. 



RELIGIOUS LIBEETY.^Wm, Gaston, 

I AM opposed, out and out, to any interference of the state 
with the opinions of its citizens, and more especially with their 
opinions on religious subjects. Law is the proper judge of 
action, and reward or punishment its proper sanction. Reason 
is the proper umpire of opinion, and argument and discussion its 
only fit advocates. To denounce opinions by law is as silly, and 



36 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

unfortunately mucli more tyrannical, as it would be to punish 
crime by logic. Law calls out the force of the community to 
compel obedience to its mandates. To operate on opinion by 
law, is to enslave the intellect and oppress the soul — to reverse 
the order of nature, and make reason subservient to force. But 
of all the attempts to arrogate unjust dominion, none is so per- 
nicious as the efforts of tyrannical men to rule over the human 
conscience. Keligion is exclusively an affair between man and 
his Grod. If there be any subject upon which the interference 
of human power is more forbidden than on all others, it is on 
religion. Born of Faith — nurtured by Hope — invigorated by 
Charity — looking for its rewards in a world beyond the grave — 
it is of Heaven, heavenly. The evidence upon which it is 
founded, and the sanctions by which it is upheld, are addressed 
solely to the understanding and the purified affections. Even 
He, from whom cometh every pure and perfect gift, and to whom 
religion is directed as its author, its end, and its exceedingly 
great reward, imposes no coercion on His children. They 
believe, or doubt, or reject, according to the impressions which 
the testimony of revealed truth makes upon their minds. He 
causes His sun to shine alike on the believer and the unbeliever, 
and His dews to fertilize equally the soil of the orthodox and 
the heretic. No earthly gains or temporal privations are to 
influence their judgment here, and it is reserved until the last 
day for the just Judge of all the earth to declare who have 
criminally refused to examine or to credit the evidences which 
were laid before them. But civil rulers thrust themselves in, 
and become God's avengers. Under a pretended zeal for the 
honor of His house, and the propagation of His Revelation, — 

Snatch from His hand the balance and the rod ; 
Rejudge His justice — are the God of God ; 

define faith by edicts, statutes, and constitutions; deal out lar- 
gesses to accelerate conviction, and refute unbelief and heresy 
by the unanswerable logic of pains and penalties. Let not 
religion be abused for this impious tyranny — religion has nothing 
to do with it. Nothing can be conceived more abhorrent from 



AM ERIC AX POPULAR SPEAKER. 37 

the spirit of true religion tlian the hypocritical pretensions of 
kings, princes, rulers, and magistrates, to uphold her holy cause 
by their unholy violence. 



WAB AXD Pi:.-! Cr.— Sumner. 



Whatever may be the judgment of poets, of moralists, of 
satirists, or even of soldiers, it is certain that the glory of arms 
still exercises no mean influence over the minds of men. The 
art of war, which has been happily termed by the French divine, 
the baleful art by which men learn to exterminate one another, 
is yet held, even among Christians, to be an honorable pursuit ; 
and the animal courage, which it stimulates and develops, is 
prized as a transcendent virtue. It will be for another age, and 
a higher civilization, to appreciate the more exalted character 
of the art of benevolence. — the art of extending happiness and 
all good influences, by word or deed, to the largest number of 
mankind, — which, in blessed contrast with the misery, the degra- 
dation, the wickedness of war, shall shine resplendent the true 
grandeur of peace. All then will be willing to juin with the 
early poet in saying at least : — 

" Though louder fame attend the martial rage, 
'Tis greater glory to reform the age." 

Then shall the soul thrill with a nobler heroism than that of 
battle. Peaceful industry, with untold multitudes of cheerful 
and beneficent laborers, shall be its gladsome token. Litera- 
ture, full of sympathy and comfurt for the heart of man. shall 
appear in garments of purer glory than she has yet assumed. 
Science shall extend the bounds of knowledge and power, 
adding unimaginable strength to the hands of men, opening 
innumerable resources in the earth, and revealing new secrets 
and harmonies in the skies. Art. elevated and refined, shall 
lavish fresh streams of beauty and grace. Charity, in streams 
of milk and honey, shall difi'use itself among all the habitations 
4 



88 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

of the world. Does any one ask for tlie signs of this approaching 
era? 

The increasing beneficence and intelligence of our own day, 
the broad-spread sympathy with human sufi*ering, the widening 
thoughts of men, the longings of the heart for a higher condi- 
tion on earth, the unfulfilled promises of Christian Progress, are 
the auspicious auguries of this Happy Future. As early voy- 
agers over untried realms of waste, we have already observed 
the signs of land. The green twig and fresh red berry have 
floated by our bark ; the odors of the shore fan our faces ; 
nay, we may seem to descry the distant gleam of light, and 
hear from the more earnest observers, as Columbus heard, after 
midnight, from the mast-head of the Pinta, the joyful cry of 
Land ! Land ! and, lo ! a new world broke upon his early morn- 
ing gaze. 



SCIENCE AND RELIGION-M. Hopkins. 

That onward movement in the march of creation, how grand 
it is ! How mysterious in its origin ! How inscrutable, how 
utterly beyond the scope of science are its issues ! Only after 
the dethronement of chaos, and during the first epoch in which 
there were orderly arrangements and recurrent movements, was 
science possible. Then she might have pitched her tent, and 
polished her glasses, and built her laboratory, and have begun 
her observations and her records. She might have counted 
every scale on the placoids, and every spot on the lichens, and 
every ring on the graptolites, and have analyzed the fog from 
every standing pool; and so have gone on thousands of 3^ears, 
feeling all the time that her tent was a house with stable founda- 
tions, and her recurring movements an inheritance for ever. 
'• Do you suppose, '^ she might have said, " that this fixed order 
will be broken up ?" '^ Do you not see that since the fathers fell 
asleep all things continue as they were T^ 

But that epoch came to its close. The placoids, and lichens, 
and graptolites, and all the science connected with them, were 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 39 

wlielmed beneath the surface, to be known no more except as 
they might leave their record there. Then, again, in the second 
period, science might have gone the same round, and fallen into 
the same infidelity. And, indeed, from her own stand-point 
alone, how could she do otherwise ? The circular movement 
cannot speak of that which is to end it. And so it has been 
through the epochs. 

According to its own records, the coming up of the creation 
out of the past eternity has been as the march of an army that 
should move on by separate stages with recruits of new races 
and orders at the opening of each encampment. During those 
long days of Grod there was scope for science, and for a new one 
in each. In each, science could pitch the tent, and forage, and 
perfect the arrangement for the encampment; but she could not 
tell when the tents were to be struck, or where the army would 
march next. And so the movement has been onward till our 
epoch has come, and we have been called in as recruits. And 
now again science is busy with her fixed arrangements and 
recurring movements; but knows just as little as before of the 
rectilinear movement — of the direction and termination of this 
mighty march. It is within this movement^ and not in the sphere 
of science^ that our great interest lies. Belonging to arrange- 
ments and movements in this world, science can do much for 
us in this world, but she cannot regenerate the world, she can- 
not secure the interests which lie only in the rectilinear line of 
movement, and which are '-^ the one thing needful. ^^ Of that 
movement we can know nothing except through faith. Through 
that we may know. We believe there is one who has marshalled 
the hosts of this moving army, and who has the ordering of 
them, and that he has told us so much of this onward move- 
ment as we need to know; and here it is that we find that 
sphere of faith which we say is distinct from science, but not 
opposed to it. 



40 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

OJSr RECOGNISING THE INDEPENDENCE OF GREECE. 
H. Clay. 

Are we so low, so base, so despicable, that we may not 
express our horror, articulate our detestation of the most brutal 
and ferocious war that ever stained earth or shocked high 
Heaven with the atrocious deeds of a brutal soldiery, set on by 
the clergy and followers of a fanatical and inimical religion, 
rioting in excess of blood and butchery, at the mere details of 
which the heart sickens ? If the great mass of Christendom 
can look coolly and calmly on while all this is perpetrated on a 
Christian people in their own vicinity, in their very presence,, 
let us at least show that in this distant extremity there is still 
some sensibility and sympathy for Christian wrongs and suffer- 
ings — that there are still feelings which can kindle into indig- 
nation at the oppression of a people endeared to us by every 
ancient recollection and every modern tie. But, sir, it is not 
first and chiefly for Greece that I wish to see this measure 
adopted. It will give them but little aid — that aid purely of a 
moral kind. It is, indeed, soothing and solacing in distress to 
hear the accents of a friendly voice. We know this as a people. 
But, sir, it is principally and mainly for America herself, for 
the credit and character of our common country, that I hope to 
see this resolution pass ; it is for our own unsullied name that 
I feel. 

What appearance, sir, on the page of history would a record 
like this make ? — '' In the month of January, in the year of our 
Lord and Saviour 1824, while all European Christendom 
beheld with cold, unfeeling apathy the unexampled wrongs and 
inexpressible misery of Christian Greece, a proposition was 
made in the Congress of the United States — almost the sole, 
the last, the greatest repository of human hope and of liuman 
freedom ; the representatives of a nation capable of bringing 
into the field a million of bayonets — while the freemen of that 
nation were spontaneously expressing its deep-toned feeling, its 
fervent prayer for Grecian success ; while the whole continent 
was rising, by one simultaneous motion, solemnly and anxiously 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 41 

supplicating and invoking the aid of Heaven to spare Greece 
and to invigorate her arms ; while temples and senate houses 
were all resounding with one burst of generous sympathy ; in 
the year of our Lord and Saviour — that Saviour alike of 
Christian Greece and of us — a proposition was offered in the 
American Congress to send a messenger to Greece to inquire 
into her state and condition^ with an expression of our good 
wishes and our sympathies, and it was rejected I" Go home, if 
you dare — go home, if you can — to your constituents, and tell 
them that you voted it down. Meet, if you dare, the appalling 
countenances of those who sent you here, and tell them that 
you shrank from the declaration of your own sentiments ; that 
you cannot tell how, but that some unknown dread, some inde- 
scribable apprehension, some indefinable danger affrighted you; 
that the spectres of cimeters, and crowns, and crescents gleamed 
before you and alarmed you ; and that you suppressed all the 
noble feelings prompted by religion, by liberty, by national 
independence, and by humanity. I cannot bring myself to 
believe that such will be the feeling of a majority of this House. 



COMMON THINGS IMPORTANT,—^. C. Winthrop. 

Scholars must condescend to deal with common thoughts, 
with common words, with common topics ; — or rather, they 
must learn to consider nothing as common or unclean whicli 
may contribute to the welfare of man, the safety of the repub- 
lic, or the glory of God. It is theirs by their efforts in the 
pulpit or at the bar, in the lecture-room, or the legislative hall, 
at the meetings of select societies, or at the grander gatherings 
of popular masses, in the columns of daily papers, in the pages 
of periodical reviews or magazines, or through the scattered 
leaves of the occasional tract or pamphlet, to keep a strong, 
steady current of sound, rational, enlightened sentiment always 
in circulation through the community. Let them remember 
that false doctrines will not wait to be corrected by ponderous 
4* 



42 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

folios or cumbrous quartos. The thin pamphlet, the meagre 
tract, the occasional address, the weekly sermon, the daily 
leader, — these are the great instruments of shaping and mould- 
ing the destinies of our country. In them the scholarship of 
the country must manifest itself. In them the patriotism of 
the country must exhibit itself. In them the morality and 
religion of the country must assert itself. '' The word in 
season,'^ — that word of which Solomon understood the beauty 
and the value, when he likened it to apples of gold in pictures 
of silver, — it is that which is to arrest error, rebuke falsehood, 
confirm faith, kindle patriotism, commend morality and religion, 
purify public opinion, and preserve the state. 



INDEPENDENCE MONUMENT,— Ke^^etb. Rayneh. 

[On the bill to '^ aid in the erection of a monument commemorative of 
the declaration of American independence," in the Senate of North 
Carolina, January 20, 1855.] 

The erection of this monument in Independence Square will 
strengthen and confirm in the minds of our people the conse- 
cration of a spot already hallowed in the hearts and affections 
of every lover of liberty in this land. Every one of those 
moral and intellectual giants, who there presided over our 
nation's birth, is gone to the spirit land. But their names and 
their memories live, and as time rolls on, the mythic legends of 
a distant future will associate their self-sacrificing achievements, 
their intellectual efforts, and their crowning triumph, with the 
idea of inspiration and of aid from on high. The golden fruits 
of that bouDtiful harvest, the seeds of which were sown by 
their hands, we are now reaping. The extension of our coun- 
try's limits; the rapid progress of our civilization, our freedom, 
our religion, and our laws; the triumphs of our arms; the 
advancement of our commerce ; our wonderful improvements in 
literature, in arts, and in industrial enterprise; in fact, the 
teeming wealth, and luxury, and comfort of our boundless 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 43 

resources, and the numberless blessings with which kind Heaven 
has favored us, — for the germ and development of all these 
revolutionary benefactors, who appealed to Heaven for the rec- 
titude of their intentions, uttered the declaration, " Let this 
nation be free," and lo ! it was free. Sir, can we, their poste- 
rity, feel gratitude warm enough to requite the boon they 
bequeathed us ? Can we speak in language glowing enough to 
duly sound their praise ? Can we build monuments high enough 
to tell the story of their deeds ? 

But what we can do, let us do. Let us, in conjunction with 
our sister states of the Old Thirteen, — whose classic soil was 
bedewed with the blood of the martyrs of freedom, and in 
whose soil now rest their hallowed remains, — let us erect this 
monument on the site of our political Bethlehem, from whence 
were first heralded the glad tidings of our national salvation, 
from whence first went forth the warning to tyrants, and the 
assurance to the oppressed of the nations, that liberty was man's 
right, and to assert it was his duty. There let it stand till time 
shall be no more. In its massive strength, let it be emblematic 
of the hardy vigor and unterrified determination of those whose 
names maj^ be inscribed on its shaft. Let its peerless beauty 
reflect the purity of their motives and the devotion of their 
hearts. Let its heavenward-pointed summit represent the lofty 
aspirations of their souls, and suggest to the beholder the place 
of their reward and final rest. 



LIBE&TY THE MEED OF IiYTELLIGENCE.—Calkomn. 

Society can no more exist without government, in one form 
or another, than man without society. It is the political, then, 
which includes the social, that is his natural state. It is the one 
for which his Creator formed him, into which he is impelled 
irresistibly, and in which only his race can exist, and all his 
faculties be fully developed. Such being the case, it follows 
that any, the worst form of government, is better than anarchy, 
and that individual liberty or freedom must be subordinate to 



44 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

whatever power may be necessary to protect society against 
anarchy within or destruction from without ; for the safety and 
well-being of society are as paramount to individual liberty as 
the safety and well-being of the race are to that of individuals ; 
and, in the same proportion, the power necessary for the safety 
of society is paramount to individual liberty. On the contrary, 
government has no right to control individual liberty beyond 
what is necessary to the safety and well-being of society. Such 
is the boundary which separates the power of government and 
the liberty of the citizen or subject in the political state, which, 
as I have shown, is the natural state of man, the only one in 
which his race can exist, and the one in which he is born, lives, 
and dies. 

It follows from all this that the quantum of power on the 
part of the government, and of liberty on that of individuals, 
instead of being equal in all cases, must necessarily be very 
unequal among different people, according to their different 
conditions. For just in proportion as a people are ignorant, 
stupid, debased, corrupt, exposed to violence within and danger 
without, the power necessary for government to possess, in 
order to preserve society against anarchy and destruction, be- 
comes greater and greater, and individual liberty less and less, 
until the lowest condition is reached, when absolute and despotic 
power becomes necessary on the part of the government, and 
individual liberty extinct. So, on the contrary, just as a people 
rise in the scale of intelligence, virtue, and patriotism, and the 
more perfectly they become acquainted with the nature of gov- 
ernment, the ends for which it was ordered, and how it ought 
to be administered, and the less the tendency to violence and 
disorder within and danger from abroad, the power necessary 
for government becomes less and less, and individual liberty 
greater and greater. Instead, then, of all men having the same 
right to liberty and equality, as is claimed by those who hold 
that they are all born free and equal, liberty is the noblest and 
highest reward bestowed on mental and moral development, 
combined with favorable circumstances. Instead, then, of lib- 
erty and equality being born with man, — instead of all men, 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 45 

and all classes and descriptions, being equally entitled to them, 
— they are high prizes to be won ; and are, in their most per- 
fect state, not only the highest reward that can be bestowed on 
our race, but the most difficult to be won, and, when won, the 
most difl&cult to be preserved. 



PENN'S ITOriF^.— Alonzo Potter, D.D. 

That trust in God, that simple love of Jesus and of those for 
whom he died, which prompted William Penn to come out to 
this new land, that he might make what he calls '^ the lioly ex- 
periment.'^ setting ''an example to the nations of a just and 
righteous government,^' that spirit of true and universal brother- 
hood which drew from him, as he stood unarmed and undefended 
under the great elm at Shakamaxon, and saw, '' as far as his eyes 
could carry,'' the painted and plumed children of the forest 
gazing upon him as a new and strange ruler; that love to Grod 
and man, which then impelled his great heart to say to them, 
^* I will not call you brothers or children, but you shall be to me 
and mine as half of the same body;'' which two years later, 
when he left for England, prompted him to send to this city of 
brotherly love, which he had founded, the message, ^' And thou, 
Philadelphia, virgin of the province, my soul prays for thee, 
that faithful to the God of thy mercies in the life of righteous- 
ness, thou mayest be preserved unto the end :" — And again, 
when he wrote replying to the charge, that he had manifested, 
while here, restless ambition and lust of gain, and made this 
memorable prediction : '' If Friends here (^. €., in Pennsylvania) 
keep to God^ and in the justice, mercy, equity, and fear of the 
Lord, their enemies will be their footstool ; if not, their heirs 
and my heirs too, will lose all." Brethren ! Has our course as 
a people, been thus loyal to God ? Has it been true to this, our 
beginning — faithful to justice, mercy, and the fear of the Lord? 
If not, we may plume ourselves upon our wealth and enterprise, 
upon our far-reaching domain, upon our achievements in arts or 



46 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

in arms ; but we should tremble, when we remember with whom, 
as a nation, we are to reckon. We should tremble, when we 
consider that his retribution is unerring for nations as for 
individuals, and that, while in the case of individuals, just 
punishment may wait to another life, in the case of nations it 
must fall here. 



REPUBLICAN GOVERNMENT.— Stonr. 

When we reflect on what has been, and is now, is it possible 
not to feel a profound sense of the responsibleness of this Re- 
public to all future ages ? What vast motives press upon us for 
lofty efforts ! What brilliant prospects invite our enthusiasm ! 
What solemn warnings at once demand our vigilance, and 
moderate our confidence ! 

The old world has already revealed to us, in its unsealed 
books, the beginning and end of all its own marvellous struggles 
in the cause of liberty. Greece, lovely Greece, *' the land of 
scholars, and the nurse of arms/' where sister republics, in fair 
processions, chanted the praises of liberty and the gods, where, 
and what is she ? For two thousand years the oppressor has 
bound her to the earth. Her arts are no more. The last sad 
relics of her temples are but the barracks of a ruthless soldiery ; 
the fragments of her columns and her palaces are in the dust, 
yet beautiful in ruin. 

Where are the republics of modern times, which clustered 
around immortal Italy ? Venice and Genoa exist but in name. 
The Alps, indeed, look down upon the brave and peaceful 
Swiss, in their native fastnesses; but the guarantee of their 
freedom is in their weakness, and not in their strength. The 
mountains are not easily crossed, and the valleys are not easily 
retained. 

We stand, the latest, and, if we fail, probably the last, experi- 
ment of self-government by the people. We have begun it 
under circumstances of the most auspicious nature. We are in 
the vigor of youth. Our growth has never been checked by 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 47 

the oppressions of tyranny. Our constitutions have never been 
enfeebled by the vices or luxuries of the old world. Such as 
we are, we have been from the beginning, — simple, hardy, intel- 
ligent, accustomed to self-government and self-respect. 

The Atlantic rolls between us and any formidable foe. Within 
our own territory, stretching through many degrees of latitude 
and longitude, we have the choice of many products, and many 
means of independence. The government is mild. The press 
is free. Religion is free. Knowledge reaches, or may reach, 
every home. What fairer prospect of success could be pre- 
sented ? What means more adequate to accomplish the sublime 
end ? What more is necessary, than for the people to preserve 
what they themselves have created ? 

Already has the age caught the spirit of our institutions. It 
has already ascended the Andes, and snuffed the breezes of both 
oceans. It has infused itself into the life-blood of Europe, and 
warmed the sunny plains of France, and the lowlands of Hol- 
land. It has touched the philosophy of Germany and the north, 
and, moving onward to the south, has opened to Greece the 
lessons of her better days. 

Can it be, that America, under such circumstances, can 
betray herself? that she is to be added to the catalogue of 
republics, the inscription of whose ruin is, — ^' They were, but 
are not." Forbid it, my countrymen ! forbid it, Heaven ! 



RIGHTEOUSNESS EXALTETH A NATIOK^Steyens. 

Young men, God has given you a good land, and has laid 
upon you responsibilities in connection with this land at once 
vast and solemn. The future of this land will be what the 
young men of this land shall make it. 

The Psalmist, in one of his magnificent passages, calls upon 
the pious Israelite to '^ walk about Zion and go round about her, 
tell the towers thereof, mark ye well her bulwarks, consider her 
palaces, that ye may teil it to the generation following, for this 



48 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Grod is our God for ever and ever,'^ So, young men, I call upon 
you to walk about our American Zion and go round about her, 
tell the towers of her strength, mark the bulwarks which sup- 
port her freedom, consider the palaces of her glory : and were I 
called upon, on this day of our nation's independence, to indicate 
the towers, the bulwarks, the palaces which give to our land 
strength, beauty, glory, I should not point to our public build- 
ings, magnificent as they are ; nor to our army and navy, gallant 
and covered with laurels as they are ; nor to our territorial vast- 
ness, embracing as it does almost a continent; nor to our com- 
merce, our manufactures, our railroads, marvellous as these 
are, — but I would point you to the open Bible, the open door of 
the church, the open door of the school-house, the sacred 
ministry, the ordinances of grace, the wonderful power of the 
religious press, the banded associations of religion and benevo- 
lence, the unfettered right of conscience, and the reverence 
which, as a people, we pay to the Christian Sabbath ; these are 
the towers, the bulwarks, the palaces which confer on us a 
strength, a glory, and an influence such as God has given to no 
other nation under the whole heaven. Would you preserve and 
exalt this nation, send abroad the Bible, build up the church of 
the living God, infuse the principles of divine truth into every 
school, academy, and university, sustain the institution of the 
ministry, scatter the products of your religious press as so many 
leaves from the tree of life, conduct with vigor the great schemes 
of associated benevolence, preserve intact the rights of con- 
science, and keep holy the Sabbath day. Do these things, and 
our nation will have a righteous government, a righteous system 
of education, a righteous judiciary, a righteous literature, a 
righteous commerce, and in the individual man, the family 
group, the social circle, the civic community, the state, and the 
nation, there will prevail truth, to the exclusion of falsehood 
and error; peace, to the exclusion of revenge, bloodshed, and 
war ; love, to the exclusion of personal and national animosities 
and strifes; holiness, to the exclusion of every sin; justice, to 
the exclusion of all oppression ; the Christian graces. Faith, 
Hope, and Charity, more beautiful than the fabled graces of 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 49 

classic mythology; and the Christian virtues, more lovely than 
the muses of Grrecian song, would adorn each heart, beautify 
each face, beam out from each eye ; Paradise would almost be 
restored to earth, and God would again come down in the cool 
of the day to walk with redeemed and sanctified men. 



THE FIRST GUN OF FREEDOM.— Everett. 

On the 19th of April the all-important blow was struck — the 
blow which severed the fated chain whose every link was bolted 
by an act of parliament, whose every rivet was closed up by an 
order in council, which bound to the wake of Europe, the brave 
bark of our youthful fortune, destined henceforth and for ever 
to ride the waves alone — the blow which severed the fated 
chain was struck. The blow was struck which will be felt in 
its consequence to ourselves and the family of nations till the 
seventh seal is broken upon the apocalyptic volume of the 
history of empires. The consummation of four centuries was 
completed. The life-long hopes and heart-sick visions of Colum- 
bus, poorly fulfilled in the subjugation of the plumed tribes of 
a few tropical islands and the distant glimpse of a continent, 
cruelly mocked by the fetters placed upon his noble limbs by 
his own menial, and which he carried with him into his grave, 
are at length more than fulfilled, when the new world of his 
discovery put on the sovereign robes of her separate national 
existence, and joined the great Panathenaic procession of the 
nations. The wrongs of generations were redressed. 

The cup of humiliation drained to the dregs by the old 
Puritan confessors and non-conformist victims of oppression ; 
loathsome prisons; blasted fortune; lips forbidden to open in 
prayer; earth and water denied in their pleasant native land; 
the separations and sorrow of exile ; the sounding perils of the 
ocean; the scented hedgerows and vocal thickets of the "old 
countrie'^ exchanged for the pathless wilderness ringing with 
the war-whoop and gleaming with the scalpingknife ; the 
secular insolence of colonial rule, checked by no periodical 



50 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER, 

recurrence to the public will ; governors appointed on the other 
side of the globe that knew not Joseph ; the patronizing disdain 
of undelegated power; the legal contumely of foreign law, 
wanting the first element of obligations, the consent of the 
governed expressed by his authorized representative; and at 
length the last unutterable and burning affront and shame, a 
mercenary soldiery encamped upon the fair eminences of our 
cities; ships of war with springs on their cables moored in 
front of our crowded quays ; artillery planted open-mouthed in 
our principal streets, at the doors of our Houses of Assembly, 
their morning and evening salvos proclaiming to the rising and 
setting sun that we are the subjects and they the lords, — all 
these phantoms of the long colonial night swept off by the first 
sharp volley on Lexington green. 



WASHINGTON.— Charles Phillips. 

It is the custom of your board, and a noble one it is, to deck 
the cup of the gay with the garland of the great; and surely, 
even in the eyes of its deity, his grape is not the less lovely 
when glowing beneath the foliage of the palm-tree and the 
myrtle. — Allow me to add one flower to the chaplet, which, 
though it sprang in America, is no exotic. Virtue planted it, 
and it is naturalized everywhere. I see you anticipate me — I 
see you concur with me, that it matters very little what imme- 
diate spot may be the birth-place of such a man as Washing- 
ton. No people can claim, no country can appropriate him ; the 
boon of Providence to the human race, his fame is eternity, and 
his residence creation. Though it was the defeat of our arms, 
and the disgrace of our policy, I almost bless the convulsion in 
which he had his origin. If the heavens thundered and the 
earth rocked, yet, when the storm passed, how pure was the 
climate that it cleared ; how bright in the brow of the firma- 
ment was the planet which it revealed to us 1 In the produc- 
tion of Washington, it does really appear as if nature was 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 51 

endeavoring to improve upon herself, and that all the virtues 
of the ancient world were but so many studies preparatory to 
the patriot of the new. Individual instances no doubt there 
were ; splendid exempliiScations of some single qualification. 
Caesar was merciful, Scipio was continent, Hannibal ^vas 
patient ; but it was reserved for Washington to blend them all 
in one, and, like the lovely chef d/ oeuvre of the Grecian artist, to 
exhibit in one glow of associated beauty, the pride of every 
model, and the perfection of every master. As a general, he 
marshalled the peasant into a veteran, and supplied by disci- 
pline the absence of experience ; as a statesman, he enlarged 
the policy of the cabinet into the most comprehensive system 
of general advantage ; and such was the wisdom of his views, 
and the philosophy of his counsels, that to the soldier and the 
statesman he almost added the character of the sage ! a con- 
queror, he was untainted with the crime of blood ; a revolu- 
tionist, he was free from any stain of treason ; for aggression 
commenced the contest, and his country called him to the com- 
mand. Liberty unsheathed his sword, necessity stained, victory 
returned it. If he had paused here, history might have doubted 
what station to assign him, whether at the head of her citizens 
or her soldiers, her heroes or her patriots. But the last glorious 
act crowns his career, and banishes all hesitation. Who, like 
Washington, after having emancipated a hemisphere, resigned 
its crown, and preferred the retirement of domestic life to the 
adoration of a land he might be almost said to have created ? 

*' How shall we rank thee upon glory's page, 
Thou more than soldier, and just less than sage ; 
All thou hast been reflects less fame on thee, 
Far less than all thou hast forborne to be !" 

Such, sir, is the testimony of one not to be accused of par- 
tiality in his estimate of America. Happy, proud America ! 
the lightnings of heaven yielded to your philosophy I The 
temptations of earth could not seduce your patriotism ! 



52 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

TEE BIRTHDAY OF WASHINGTON.— Croate. 

The birthday of the '' Father of his Country I" May it ever 
be freshly remembered by American hearts. May it ever re- 
awaken in them a filial veneration for his memory ; ever rekindle 
the fires of patriotic regard to the country which he loved so 
well ; to which he gave his youthful vigor and his youthful 
energy, during the perilous period of the early Indian warfare; 
to which he devoted his life, in the maturity of his powers, in 
the field; to which, again, he offered the counsels of his wis- 
dom and his experience, as president of the convention that 
framed our constitution ; which he guided and directed while in 
the chair of state, and for which the last prayer of his earthly 
supplication was offered up, when it came the moment for him 
so well, and so grandly, and so calmly to die. He was the first 
man of the time in which he grew. His memory is first and 
most sacred in our love ; and ever, hereafter, till the last drop 
of blood shall freeze in the last American heart, his name shall 
be a spell of power and might* 

Fes, gentlemen, there is one personal, one vast felicity which 
no man can share with him. It was the daily beauty and 
towering and matchless glory of his life, which enabled him to 
create his country, and, at the same time, secure an undying 
love and regard from the whole American people. " The first 
in the hearts of his countrymen V Yes, first ! He has our 
first and most fervent love. Undoubtedly there were brave, and 
wise, and good men before his day in every colony. But the 
American nation, as a nation, I do not reckon to have begun 
before 1774. And the first love of that young America was 
Washington. The first word she lisped was his name. Her 
earliest breath spoke it. It still is her proud ejaculation, and 
it will be the last gasp of her expiring life. 

Yes, others of our great men have been appreciated — many 
admired by all. But him we love. Him we all love. About 
and around him we call up no dissentient, and discordant, and 
dissatisfied elements — no sectional prejudice nor bias — no party, 
no creed, no dogma of politics. None of these shall assail him. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 53 

Yes, when the storm of battle blows darkest and rages highest, 
the memory of Washington shall nerve every American arm, 
and cheer every American heart. It shall relume that Prome- 
thean fire, that sublime flame of patriotism, that devoted love 
of country, which his words have commended, which his exam- 
ple has consecrated. 

'' Where may the wearied eye repose, 

When gazing on the great. 
Where neither guilty glory glows. 

Nor despicable state ? 
Yes — one— the first, the last, the best. 
The Cincinnatus of the west, 

Whom envy dared not hate, 
Bequeathed the name of Washington, 
To make man blush there was but one." 



THE OBSTACLES TO CHEISTIAJSriTT.—CoLWELL. 

We believe that the outward manifestations of Christianity 
do not keep up with the circumstances of the age in which we 
live, nor with its intelligence ; and, above all, they do not cor- 
respond to the opportunities and privileges of the land in which 
we live. In every age since the Christian era, and in every 
country, there have been circumstances, external or internal, in 
the condition of the people, which have prevented the free 
expansion and proper growth of Christianity. Sometimes it 
has been a defective ecclesiastical system, sometimes the repress- 
ive character of the temporal governments and the superstition 
or improper education of the people ; but now, at this day and 
in this country, the Christian — whether statesman, man of 
science, or philosopher — may look in what direction and pur- 
sue what line of inquiry, religious or social, he pleases, when 
he is considering how he can most promote the interests of 
Christianity and the temporal well-being of his fellow-men. 
5^ 



54 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

LAFAYETTE' S VISIT TO AMERICA.—^, S. Prentiss. 

In 1824, on Sunday, a single ship furled her snowy sails in 
the harbor of New York. Scarcely had her prow touched the 
shore^ when a murmur was heard among the multitude, which 
gradually deepened into a mighty shout, and that shout was a 
shout of joy. Again and again were the heavens rent with the 
inspiring sound. Nor did it cease; for the loud strain was car- 
ried from city to city, and from state to state, till not a tongue 
was silent throughout this wide republic, from the lisping infant 
to the tremulous old man. All were united in one wild shout 
of gratulation. The voices of more than ten millions of freemen 
gushed up towards the sky, and broke the stillness of its silent 
depths. But one note and but one tone went to form this accla- 
mation. Up in those pure regions clearly and sweetly did it 
sound — " Honor to Lafayette ! Welcome to the nation's guest !'' 
It was Lafayette, the war-worn veteran, whose arrival upon our 
shores had caused this wide-spread, this universal joy. He came 
among us to behold the independence and the freedom which 
his young arm had so well assisted in achieving; and never 
before did eye behold, or heart of man conceive, such homage 
paid to virtue. 

His whole stay amongst us was a continued triumph. Every 
day's march was an ovation. The United States became for 
months one great festive hall. People forgot the usual occupa- 
tions of life, and crowded to behold the benefactor of mankind. 
The iron-hearted, gray-haired veterans of the revolution thronged 
around him, to touch his hand, to behold his face, and to call 
down Heaven's benison upon their old companion in arms. 
Lisping infancy and garrulous age, beauty, talents, wealth, and 
power, all for awhile forsook their usual pursuits, and united to 
pay a willing tribute of gratitude and welcome to the nation's 
guest. The name of Lafayette was upon every lip, and wherever 
was his name, there too was an invocation for blessings on his 
head. What were the triumphs of the classic ages, compared 
with this unbought love and homage of a mighty people ? Take 
them in Rome's best days, when the invincible generals of the 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 55 

Eternal City returned from their foreign conquests with captive 
kings bound to their chariot wheels, and the spoils of nations in 
their train — followed by their stern and bearded warriors, and 
surrounded by the interminable multitudes of the seven-hilled 
city shouting a fierce welcome home — what was such a triumph, 
compared with that of Lafayette ? 

Not a single city, but a whole nation rising as one man, and 
greeting him with an affectionate embrace. One single day of 
such spontaneous homage were worth whole years of courtly 
adulation j one hour might well reward a man for a whole life 
of danger and of toil. Then^ too, the joy with which he must 
have viewed the prosperity of the people for whom he had so 
heroically struggled — to behold the nation which he had left 
a little child now grown up in the full proportions of lusty 
manhood — to see the tender sapling, which he had left with 
hardly shade enough to cover its own roots, now waxing into 
the sturdy and unwedgeable oak, beneath whose grateful um- 
brage the oppressed of all nations find shelter and protection. 
That oak still grows on in its majestic strength, and wider and 
wider still extend its mighty branches. But the hand that 
watered and nourished it while yet a tender plant is now cold; 
the heart that watched with strong affection its early growth 
has ceased to beat. 



IMPRESSMENT OF AMERICAN SAILORS.— Clay. 

If Great Britain desires a mark, by which she can know her 
own subjects, let her give them an ear-mark. The colors that 
float from the mast-head should be the credentials of our seamen. 
There is no safety to us, and the gentlemen have shown it, but 
in the rule that all who sail under the flag (not being enemies), 
are protected by the flag. It is impossible that this country 
should ever abandon the gallant tars, who have won for us such 
splendid trophies. Let me suppose that the Grenius of Columbia 
should visit one of them in his oppressor's prison, and attempt 
to reconcile him to his forlorn and wretched condition. She 



66 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

would say to hiDi, in the language of gentlemen on tlie other 
side: ''Great Britain intends you no harm; she did not mean 
to impress you, but one of her own subjects; having taken you 
by mistake, I will remonstrate, and try to prevail upon her, by 
peaceable means, to release you, but I cannot, my son, fight for 
you/" If he did not consider this mere mockery, the poor tar 
would address her judgment and say, " You owe me^ my country, 
protection ; I owe you, in return, obedience. I am no British 
subject, I am a native of old Massachusetts, where live my aged 
father, my wife, my children. I have faithfully discharged my 
duty. Will you refuse to do yours V^ Appealing to her pas- 
sions, he would continue : " !• lost this eye in fighting under 
Truxtun, with the Insurgente; I got this scar before Tripoli; I 
broke this leg on board the Constitution, when the Guerriere 
struck. ^^ If she remained still unmoved, he would break out, 
in the accents of mingled distress and despair : — 

'' Hard, hard is my fate ! once I freedom enjoyed, 
Was as happy as happy could be ! 
Oh ! how hard is my fate, how galling these chains !" 

I will not imagine the dreadful catastrophe to which he would 
be driven by an abandonment of him to his oppressor. It will 
not be, it cannot be, that his country will refuse him protection. 



TOLERANT CHISTIANITY THE LAW OF THE LAND. 
Webster. 

General principles and public policy are sometimes estab- 
lished by constitutional provisions, sometimes by legislative 
enactments, sometimes by judicial decisions, and sometimes by 
general consent. But how, or when it may be established, there 
is nothing that we look for with more certainty than this gene- 
ral principle, that Christianity is part of the law of the land. 
This was the case among the Puritans of England, the Episco- 
palians of the Southern States, the Pennsylvania Quakers, the 
Baptists, the mass of the followers of Whitfield and Wesley, 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 57 

and the Presbyterians — all — all brought and all adopted this 
great truth — and all have sustained it. And ^Yhere there is 
any religious sentiment amongst men at all, this sentiment 
incorporates itself with the law. Everything declares it! The 
massive Cathedral of the Catholic ] the Episcopalian Church, 
with its lofty spire pointing heavenward ] the plain temple of 
the Quaker; the log-church of the hardy pioneer of the wilder- 
ness; the mementos and memorials around and about us — the 
graveyards — their tombstones and epitaphs — their silent vaults 
— their mouldering contents — all attest it. The dead ]yrove it 
as well as the living I The generation that is gone before speak 
to it, and pronounce it from the tomb 1 Vv^e feel it 1 All, all 
proclaim that Christianity — general, tolerant Christianity — 
Christianity independent of sects and parties — that Christianity 
to which the sword and the faggot are unknown — general, tole- 
rant Christianity, is the law of the land ! 



THE TRUE SECRET OF ORATORY.— Webster, 

"When public bodies are to be addressed on momentous occa- 
sions, when great interests are at stake and strong passions 
excited, nothing is valuable in speech, further than it is con- 
nected with high intellectual and moral endowments. Clearness, 
force, and earnestness are the qualities which produce convic- 
tion. True eloquence, indeed, does not consist in speech. It 
cannot be brought from far. Labor and learning may toil for 
it, but they will toil in vain. ^Yords and phrases may be 
marshalled in every way, but they cannot compass it. It must 
exist in the man, in the subject, and in the occasion. Affected 
passion, intense expression, the pomp of declamation, all may 
aspire after it, — they cannot reach it. It comes, if it come at 
all, like the outbreaking of a fountain from the earth, or the 
bursting forth of volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original, 
native force. The graces taught in the schools, the costly 
ornaments and studied contrivances of speech, shock and dis- 



58 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

gust men when their own lives, aad the fate of their wives, 
their children, and their country hang on the decision of the 
hour. Then, words have lost their power, rhetoric is vain, and 
all elaborate oratory contemptible. Even genius itself then feels 
rebuked and subdued, as in the presence of higher qualities. 
Then^ patriotism is eloquent; then, self-devotion is eloquent. 
The clear conception, outrunning the deductions of logic, the 
high purpose, the firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on 
the tongue, beaming from the eye, informing every feature, and 
urging the whole man onward, right onward to his object, — 
this, this is eloquence; or rather it is something greater and 
higher than all eloquence, — it is action, noble, sublime, godlike 
action ! 



THE SOPHISTRY OF INFID ELS, -^Uai.l. 

The infidels of the present day are the first sophists who have 
presumed to innovate in the very substance of morals. The dis- 
putes on moral questions hitherto agitated among philosophers 
have respected the grounds of duty, not the nature of duty 
itself ; or they have been merely metaphysical, and related to 
the history of moral sentiments in the mind, the sources and 
principles from which they were most easily deduced; they 
never turned on the quality of those dispositions and actions 
which were to be denominated virtuous. In the firm persuasion 
that the love and fear of the Supreme Being, the sacred obser- 
vation of promises and oaths, reverence to magistrates, obedience 
to parents, gratitude to benefactors, conjugal fidelity, and parental 
tenderness were primary virtues, and the chief support of every 
commonwealth, they were unanimous. The curse denounced 
upon such as remove ancient landmarks, upon those who call 
good evil, and evil good, put light for darkness, and darkness 
for light, who employ their faculties to subvert the eternal dis- 
tinctions of right and wrong, and thus to poison the streams of 
virtue at their source, falls with accumulated weight on the 
advocates of modern infidelity, and on them alone. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 59 

REPUBLIC S,-l.^GKR^, 

The name of republic is ioscribed upon the most imperish- 
able monuments of the species, and it is probable that it will 
continue to be associated, as it has been in all past ages, with 
whatever is heroic in character, and sublime in genius, and 
elegant and brilliant in the cultivation of arts and letters. It 
would not be difficult to prove that the base hirelings who have 
so industriously inculcated a contrary doctrine have been com- 
pelled to falsify history and abuse reason. It might be asked, 
triumpantly, what land has ever been visited with the influences 
of liberty, that has not flourished like the spring ? What people 
has ever worshipped at her altars without kindling with a loftier 
spirit, and putting forth more noble energies ? Where has she 
ever acted that her deeds have not been heroic ? Where has 
she ever spoken that her eloquence has not been triumphant 
and sublime? 

With respect to ourselves, would it not be enough to say that 
we live under a form of government and in a state of society 
to which the world has never yet exhibited a parallel ? Is is 
then nothing to be free ? How many nations in the whole 
annals of human kind have proved themselves worthy of being 
so ? Is it nothing that we are republicans ? Were all men as 
enlightened, as brave, as proud as they ought to be, would they 
sufi'er themselves to be insulted with any other title ? Is it 
nothing that so many independent sovereignties should be held 
together in such a confederacy as ours ? What does history 
teach us of the difficulty of instituting and maintaining such a 
polity, and of the glory that of consequence ought to be given 
to those who enjoy its advantages in so much perfection and on 
so grand a scale ? For can anything be more striking and 
sublime than the idea of an imperial republic, spreading over 
an extent of territory more immense than the empire of the 
Caesars, in the accumulated conquests of a thousand years — 
without prefects, or proconsuls, or publicans — founded in the 
maxims of common sense — employing within itself no arms but 
those of reason — and known to its subjects only by the blessings 



60 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

it bestows or perpetuates, yet capable of directing agaiost a 
foreign foe all the energies of a military despotism — a republic 
in which men are completely insignificant, and principles and 
laws exercise, throughout its vast dominion, a peaceful and 
irresistible sway, blending in one divine harmony such various 
habits and conflicting opinions, and mingling in our institutions 
the light of philosophy with all that is dazzling in the associa- 
tions of heroic achievement and extended domination, and 
deep-seated and formidable power ! 



LIFE IS AN EDUCATION.— Robertson, 

Life is an education. The object for which you educate your 
son is to give him strength of purpose, self-command, discipline 
of mental energies ; but you do not reveal to your son this aim 
of his education; you tell him of his place in his class, of the 
prizes at the end of the year, of the honors to be given at 
college. 

These are not the true incentives to knowledge ; such incen- 
tives are not the highest — they are even mean, and partially 
injurious; yet these mean incentives stimulate and lead on, from 
day to day, and from year to year, by a process the principle of 
which the boy himself is not aware of. So does God lead on, 
through lifers unsatisfying and false reward, ever educating : 
Canaan first; then the hope of a E^edeemer; then the millennial 
glory. Now, what is remarkable in this is, that the delusion 
continued to the last; they all died in faith, not having received 
the promises ; all were hoping up to the very last, and all died 
in faith — not in realization; for thus God has constituted the 
human heart. It never will be believed that this world is 
unreal. God has mercifully so arranged it that the idea of 
delusion is incredible. You may tell the boy or girl, as you 
will, that life is a disappointment; yet, however you may per- 
suade them to adopt your tone, and catch the language of your 
sentiment, they are both looking forward to some bright distant 
hope — the rapture of the next vacation, or the unknown joys 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 61 

of the next season — and throwing into it an energy of expecta- 
tion which a whole eternity is only worth. You may tell the 
man who has received the heart-shock, from which in this world 
he will not recover, that life has nothing left; yet the stubborn 
heart still hopes on, ever near the prize, — " wealthiest when 
most undone \'' he has reaped the whirlwind, but he will go on 
still, till life is over, sowing the wind. 



EULOGIUM ON FE A NKL IK— Mm aby.a\j. 

Franklin is dead ! Restored to the bosom of the Divinity 
is that genius which gave freedom to America, and rayed forth 
torrents of light upon Europe. The sage whom two worlds 
claim — the man whom the history of empires and the history 
of science alike contend for — occupied, it cannot be denied, a 
lofty rank among his species. Long enough have political 
cabinets signalized the death of those who were great in their 
funeral eulogies only. Long enough has the etiquette of courts 
prescribed hypocritical mournings. For their benefactors only, 
should nations assume the emblem of grief; and the representa- 
tives of nations should commend only the heroes of humanity 
to public veneration. 

In the fourteen states of the confederacy. Congress has 
ordained a mourning of two months for the death of Franklin; 
and America is at this moment acquitting herself of this tribute 
of honor to one of the fathers of her constitution. Would it 
not become us, gentlemen, to unite in this religious act; to 
participate in this homage, publicly rendered at once to the 
rights of man and to the philosopher who has contributed most 
largely to their vindication throughout the world ? Antiquity 
would have erected altars to this great and powerful genius, 
who, to promote the welfare of mankind, comprehending both 
the heavens and the earth in the range of his thought, could at 
once snatch the bolt from the cloud and the sceptre from 
tyrants. France, enlightened and free, owes at least the ac- 
6 



62 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

knowledgment of her remembrance and regret to one of the 
greatest intellects that ever served the united cause of philoso- 
phy and liberty. I propose that it be now decreed that the 
National Assembly wear mourning, during three days, for 
Benjamin Franklin. 



WASHINGTOK-^B., Lee. 



First in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his 
countrymen, he was second to none in the humble and endearing 
scenes of private life. Pious, just, humane, temperate, and sin- 
cere ; uniform, dignified, and commanding, his example was as 
edifying to all around him as were the effects of that example 
lasting. 

To his equals he was condescending ; to his inferiors kind ; 
and to the dear object of his affections exemplarily tender. 
Correct throughout, vice shuddered in his presence, and virtue 
always felt his fostering hand ; the purity of his private char- 
acter gave effulgence to his public virtues. 

His last scene comported with the whole tenor of his life : 
although in extreme pain, not a sigh, not a groan escaped him ; 
and with undisturbed serenity he closed his well-spent life. Such 
was the man America has lost ! Such was the man for whom 
our nation mourns ! 

Methinks I see his august image, and hear, failing from his 
venerable lips, these deep-sinking words : 

^' Cease, sons of America, lamenting our separation : go on, 
and confirm by your wisdom the fruits of our joint counsels, joint 
efforts, and common dangers. Reverence religion ; diffuse know- 
ledge throughout your land; patronize the arts and sciences; 
let liberty and order be inseparable companions ; control party 
spirit, the bane of free government ; observe good faith to, and 
cultivate peace with all nations ; shut up every avenue to foreign 
influence ; contract rather than extend national connection ; rely 
on yourselves only; be American in thought and deed. Thus 
will you give immortality to that Union, which was the constant 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 63 

object of my terrestrial labors. Thus will you preserve, undis- 
turbed to the latest posterity, the felicity of a people to me most 
dear: and thus will you supply (if my happiness is now aught 
to you) the only vacancy in the round of pure bliss high Heaven 
bestows/^ 



REPLY TO SIR ROBERT WALPOLE.—Vitt. 

The atrocious crime of being a young man, which the honor- 
able gentleman has, with such spirit and decency, charged upon 
me, I shall neither attempt to palliate nor deny; but content 
myself with hoping that I may be one of those whose follies 
cease with their youth, and not of that number who are ignorant 
in spite of experience. Whether youth can be imputed to a 
man as a reproach I will not assume the province of determin- 
ing; but surely age may become justly contemptible, if the 
opportunities which it brings have passed away without improve- 
ment, and vice appears to prevail when the passions have sub- 
sided. The wretch, who, after having seen the consequences 
of a thousand errors, continues still to blunder, and whose age 
has only added obstinacy to stupidity, is surely the object either 
of abhorrence or contempt, and deserves not that his gray hairs 
should secure him from insult. Much more is he to be abhorred, 
who, as he has advanced in age, has receded from virtue, and 
become more wicked with less temptation ; who prostitutes him- 
self for money which he cannot enjoy, and spends the remains 
of his life in the ruin of his country. 

But youth is not my only crime ; I am accused of acting a 
theatrical part. A theatrical part may either imply some pecu- 
liarity of gesture, or a dissimulation of my real sentiments, and 
an adoption of the opinions and language of another man. In 
the first sense, the charge is too trifling to be confuted, and 
deserves only to be mentioned that it may be despised. I am 
at liberty, like every other man, to use my own language; and 
though, perhaps, I may have some ambition to please this gentle- 
man, I shall not lay myself under any restraint, nor very soli- 



64 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

citously copy his diction or his mien, however matured by age 
or modelled by experience. 

But, if any man shall, by charging m.e with theatrical beha- 
vior, imply that I utter any sentiments but my own, I shall treat 
him as a calumniator and a villain ; nor shall any protection 
shelter him from the treatment he deserves. I shall, on such an 
occasion, without scruple, trample upon all those forms with 
which wealth and dignity intrench themselves, nor shall any- 
thing but age restrain my resentment; age, which always brings 
one privilege — that of being insolent and supercilious without 
punishment. 

But, with regard to those whom I have offended, I am of opi- 
nion that, if I had acted a borrowed part, I should have avoided 
their censure ; the heat that offended them was the ardor of 
conviction, and that zeal for the service of my country which 
neither hope nor fear shall influence me to suppress. I will not 
sit unconcerned while my liberty is invaded, nor look in silence 
upon public robbery. I will exert my endeavors, at whatever 
hazard, to repel the aggressor, and drag the thief to justice, 
whoever may protect him in his villanies, and whoever may 
partake of his plunder. 



AMERICAN INFLUENCE.—RiLLiARD. 

One of England's own writers has said, '^ The possible des- 
tiny of the United States of America, as a nation of one hun- 
dred milHons of freemen, stretching from the Atlantic to the' 
Pacific, living under the laws of Alfred, and speaking the 
language of Shakspeare and Milton, is an august coneeption.^^ 

It is an august conception, finely embodied; and I trust in 
God that it will, at no distant time, become a reality. I trust 
that the world will see, through all time, our people living, not 
only under the laws of Alfred, but that they will be heard to 
speak throughout our wide-spread borders the language of 
Shakspeare and Milton. Above all is it my prayer that, as 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 65 

long as our posterity shall continue to inhabit these mountains 
and plains, and hills and valleys, they may be found living 
under the sacred institutions of Christianity. Put these things 
together, and what a picture do they present to the mental eye ! 
Civilization and intelligence started in the East; they have 
travelled, and are still travelling westward ; but when they 
shall have completed the circuit of the earth, and reached the 
extremest verge of the Pacific shores, then, unlike the fabled 
god of the ancients, who dipped his glowing axle in the western 
wave, they will take up their permanent abode. 

Then shall we enjoy the sublime destiny of returning these 
blessings to their ancient seat ; then will it be ours to give the 
priceless benefits of our free institutions, and the pure and 
healthful light of the Gospel, back to the dark family which 
has so long lost both truth and freedom ] then may Christianity 
plant herself there, and while with one hand she points to the 
Polynesian isles, rejoicing in the late-recovered treasure of 
revealed truth, with the other present the Bible to the Chinese. 
It is our duty to aid in this great work. I trust we shall esteem 
it as much our honor as our duty. Let us not, like some of the 
T3ritish missionaries, give them the Bible in one hand and 
opium in the other, but bless them only with the pure word of 
truth. 



PERPETUAL VIGILANCE THE PRICE OF LIBERTY. 

Calhoun. 

We make a great mistake in supposing all people capable of 
self-government. Acting under that impression, many are 
anxious to force free governments on all the people of this 
continent, and over the world, if they had the power. It has 
been lately urged, in a very respectable quarter, that it is the 
mission of this country to spread civil and religious liberty over 
all the globe, and especially over this continent, even by force, 
if necessary. It is a sad delusion. None but a people advanced 
to a high state of moral and intellectual excellence are capable, 
6* E 



66 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

in a civilized condition, of forming and maintaining free govern- 
ments ; and, among those who are so far advanced, very few 
indeed have had the good fortune to form constitutions capable 
of endurance. It is a remarkable fact in the political history 
of man, that there is scarcely an instance of a free constitu- 
tional government which has been the work exclusively of fore- 
sight and wisdom. They have all been the result of a fortunate 
combination of circumstances. It is a very difficult task to 
make a constitution worthy of being called so. This admirable 
Federal Constitution of ours is the result of such a combina- 
tion. It is superior to the wisdom of any or of all the men by 
whose agency it was made. The force of circumstances, and 
not foresight or wisdom, induced them to adopt many of its 
wisest provisions. 

But of the few nations who have been so fortunate as to 
adopt a wise constitution, still fewer have had the wisdom long 
to preserve one. It is harder to preserve than to obtain liberty. 
After years of prosperity, the tenure by which it is held is but 
too often forgotten 3 and I fear, senators, that such is the case 
with us. There is no solicitude now for liberty. Who talks of 
liberty when any great question comes up ? Here is a question ' 
of the first magnitude as to the conduct of this war ; do you 
hear anybody talk about its effects upon our liberties and our 
free institutions ? No, sir. That was not the case formerly. 
In the early stages of our government, the great anxiety was, 
how to preserve liberty. The great anxiety now is for the attain- 
ment of mere military glory. In the one we are forgetting the 
other. The maxim of former times was, that power is always 
stealing from the many to the few ; the price of liberty ivas per- 
petual vigilance. They were constantly looking out and watch- 
ing for danger. Not so now. Is it because there has been any 
decay of liberty among the people ? Not at all. I believe the 
love of liberty was never more ardent ; but they have forgotten 
the tenure of liberty, by which alone it is preserved. 

We think we may now indulge in everything with impunity, 
as if we held our charter by ^' right divine" — from Heaven 
itself. Under these impressions we plunge into war, we con- 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. • 67 

tract heavy debts, we increase the patronage of the executive, 
and we talk of a crusade to force our institutions of liberty 
upon all people. There is no species of extravagance which 
our people imagine will endanger their liberty in any degree. 
Sir, the hour is approaching, the day of retribution will come. 
It will come as certainly as I am now addressing the Senate ; 
and when it doe& come, awful will be the reckoning, heavy the 
responsibility somewhere. 



KEPLER'S DISCOVERY OF THE THIRD ZJL F!— Mitchel. 

Guided by some kind angel or spirit whose sympathy had 
been touched by the unwearied zeal of the mortal, Kepler re- 
turned to his former computations, and, with a heaving breast 
and throbbing heart, he detects the numerical error in his work, 
and commences anew. The square of Jupiter's period is to the 
square of Saturn's period as the cube of Jupiter^s distance is to 
some fourth term, which Kepler hoped and prayed might prove 
to be the cube of Saturn's distance. With trembling hand, he 
sweeps through the maze of figures ] the fourth term is obtained ; 
he compares it with the cube of Saturn's distance. They are 
the same ! — He could scarcely believe his own senses. He feared 
some demon mocked him. He ran over the work again and 
again — he tried the proportion, the square of Jupiter's period 
to the square of Mars' period as the cube of Jupiter's distance 
to a fourth fcerm, which he found to be the cube of the distance 
of Mars— till finally full conviction burst upon his mind : he 
had won the goal, the struggle of seventeen long years was 
ended, God was vindicated, and the philosopher, in the wild 
excitement of his glorious triumph, exclaims : — 

^' Nothing holds me. I will indulge my sacred fury ! If you 
forgive me, I rejoice; if you are angry, I can bear it. The die 
is cast. The book is written, to be read either now, or by pos- 
terity, I care not which. It may well wait a century for a 
reader, since God has waited six thousand years for an ob- 
server 1" 



68 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

More than two hundred years have rolled away since Kepler 
announced his great discoveries. Science has marched forward 
with swift and resistless energy. The secrets of the universe 
have been yielded up under the inquisitorial investigations of 
godlike intellect. The domain of the mind has been extended 
wider and wider. One planet after another has been added to 
our system ; even the profound abyss which separates us from 
the fixed stars has been passed, and thousands of rolling suns 
have been descried swiftly flying or majestically sweeping 
through the thronged regions of space. But the laws of 
Kepler bind them all: — satellite and primary — planet and 
sun — sun and system, — all with one accord proclaim, in silent 
majesty, the triumph of the hero philosopher. 



TEE FAMINE IN IRELAND.—^, S. Prentiss. 

There lies upon the other side of the wide Atlantic a beauti- 
ful island, famous in story and in song. It has given to the 
world more than its share of genius and of greatness. It has 
been prolific in statesmen, warriors, and poets. Its brave and 
generous sons have fought successfully in all battles but its own. 
In wit and humor it has no equal ; while its harp, like its his- 
tory, moves to tears by its sweet but melancholy pathos. In this 
fair region God has seen fit to send the most terrible of all those 
fearful ministers who fulfil his inscrutable decrees. The earth 
has failed to give her increase ] the common mother has forgotten 
her offspring, and her breast no longer affords them their accus- 
tomed nourishment. Famine, gaunt and ghastly famine, has 
seized a nation with its strangling grasp ; and unhappy Ireland, 
in the sad woes of the present, forgets, for a moment, the 
gloomy history of the past. 

In battle, in the fulness of his pride and strength, little recks 
the soldier whether the hissing bullet sing his sudden requiem, 
or the cords of life are severed by the sharp steel. But he who 
dies of hunger wrestles alone, day after day, with his grim and 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 69 

unrelenting enemy. He has no friends to cheer him in the 
terrible conflict ; for if he had friends, how could he die of 
hunger ? He has not the hot blood of the soldier to maintain 
him; for his foe, vampire-like, has exhausted his veins. 

Who will hesitate to give his mite to avert such awful results ? 
Give, then, generously and freely. Kecollect that in so doing 
you are exercising one of the most godlike qualities of your 
nature, and at the same time enjoying one of the greatest luxu- 
ries of life. We ought, to thank our Maker that he has permitted 
us to exercise equally with himself that noblest of even the 
divine attributes — benevolence. Go home and look at your 
family, smiling in rosy health, and then think of the pale, 
famine-pinched cheeks of the poor children of Ireland, and you 
will give according to your store, even as a bountiful Providence 
has given to you — not grudgingly, but with an open hand ; for 
the quality of benevolence, like that of mercy, 

" Is not strained ; 
It droppeth like the gentle rain from heaven 
Upon the place beneath. It is twice bless'd : 
It blesses him that gives, and him that takes." 



THE SETTLEMENT OF PENNSYLVANIA.— IL, D. Gilpin. 

If the foundation and settlement of Pennsylvania were planned 
and accomplished upon a system so benignant and just, alike 
to the red man and the emigrant, as to elicit the praise and 
wonder of the age, to what was it due but to his promises, made 
in advance and never swerved from, of just and gentle dealings 
towards the one, and, to the other, that they should " be governed 
by laws of their own making, so that they might be a free, and, 
if they would, a sober and industrious people,'^ possessing '^ all 
that good and free men could reasonably desire for the security 
and improvement of their own happiness'^ ? ^^ Let the Lord,^' 
he said, '^ guide me by His wisdom to honor His name, and to 
serve His truth and people, so that an example and a standard 
may be set up to the nations.^' 



70 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

If the constitution of our state, now and always, has declared 
that no right of conscience, and no form or mode of religious 
worship, shall be controlled or interfered with, and requires, in 
offices of the highest trust, no religious qualification but a belief 
in the existence of the Supreme Being, and His power to punish 
or reward our actions, we proudly remember that this glorious 
principle is foremost in the earliest of our laws, voluntarily pro- 
claimed by Penn before he left the shores of England ; and that 
he, among all legislators, was the first to guarantee, by the 
enactments of his civil code, the full enjoyment of this Christian 
liberty to every one living in his province, '' who should confess 
and acknowledge one Almighty Grod to be the creator, upholder, 
and ruler of the world/^ 



THE PATRIOTISM OF THE WE ST—Cl ay. 

No portion of your population is more loyal to the Union 
than the hardy freemen of the West. Nothing can weaken or 
eradicate their ardent desire for its lasting preservation. None 
are more prompt to vindicate the interests and rights of the 
nation from all foreign aggression. Need I remind you of the 
glorious scenes in which they participated during the late war — 
a war in which they had no pecuHar or direct interest, waged 
for no commerce, no seamen of theirs ? But it was enough for 
them that it was a war demanded by the character and the 
honor of the nation. They did not stop to calculate its costs 
of blood or of treasure. 

They flew to arms ; they rushed down the valley of the Mis- 
sissippi with all the impetuosity of that noble river. They 
sought the enemy. They found him at the beach. They 
fought- they bled; they covered themselves and their country 
with immortal glory. They enthusiastically shared in all the 
transports occasioned by our victories, whether won on the 
ocean or on the land. They felt, with the keenest distress, 
whatever disaster befell us. No, sir, I repeat it, neglect, injury 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 71 

itself cannot alienate the affections of the West from this gov- 
ernment. They cliog to it as to their best, their greatest, their 
last hope. You may impoverish them, reduce them to ruin, by 
the mistakes of your policy, but you cannot drive them from 
you. 



MAN'S IMMOETALITY.—Vrotjt. 

What is to become of man ? Is the being who, surveying 
nature, recognises to a certain extent the great scheme of the 
universe ; but who sees infinitely more which he does not com- 
prehend, and which he ardently desires to know; — is he to 
perish like a mere brute — all his knowledge useless; all his 
most earnest wishes ungratified ? How are we to reconcile such 
a fate with the wisdom — the goodness — the impartial justice — 
so strikingly displayed throughout the world by its Creator ? Is 
it consistent with any one of these attributes thus to raise hopes 
in a dependent being which are never to be realized — thus to 
lift, as it were, a corner of the veil — to show this being a 
glimpse of the splendor beyond — and after all to annihilate 
him ? With the character and attributes of the benevolent 
Author of the universe, as deduced from His works, such con- 
ceptions are absolutely incompatible. The question then recurs 
— What is to become of man ? That he is mortal, like his 
fellow-creatures, sad experience teaches him ; but does he, like 
them, die entirely ? Is there no part of him that, surviving 
the general wreck, is reserved for a higher destiny ? Can that, 
within man, which reasons like his immortal Creator — which 
sees and acknowledges His wisdom, and approves of His de- 
signs, be mortal like the rest ? Is it probable, nay, is it possible, 
that what can thus comprehend the operations of an immortal 
Agent, ^s not itself immortal? 

Thus has reasoned man in all ages ; and his desires and his 
feelings, his hopes and his fears, have all conspired with his 
reason to strengthen the conviction that there is something 



72 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

within him which cannot die : that he is destined, in short, for 
a future state of existence, where his nature will be exalted 
and his knowledge perfected ; and where the great design of 
his Creator, commenced and left imperfect here below, will be 

COMPLETED. 



EULOGY ON HAMILTON.— ^OTT. 

He stood on an eminence, and glory covered him. From that 
eminence he has fallen — suddenly, for ever fallen. His inter- 
course with the living world is now ended ; and those who 
would hereafter find him must seek him in the grave. There, 
cold and lifeless, is the heart which just now was the seat of 
friendship. There, dim and sightless, is the eye whose radiant 
and enlivening orb beamed with intelligence; and there, closed 
for ever, are those lips on whose persuasive accents we have so 
often, and so lately, hung with transport. From the darkness 
which rests upon his tomb there proceeds, methinks, a light in 
which it is clearly seen that those gaudy objects which men 
pursue are only phantoms. In this light how dimly shines the 
splendor of victory ! how humble appears the majesty of 
grandeur! The bubble, which seemed to have so much solidity, 
has burst, and we again see that all below the sun is vanity. 

Approach, and behold, while I lift from his sepulchre its 
covering ! Ye admirers of his greatness, ye emulous of his 
talents and his fame, approach and behold him now. How 
pale ! How silent ! No martial bands admire the adroitness 
of his movements ; no fascinated throng weep, and melt, and 
tremble at his eloquence. Amazing change ! A shroud ! a 
coffin ! a narrow, subterraneous cabin ! This is all that now 
remains of Hamilton. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 73 

THE RULE OF AMERICAN COiVZ>C^Cr.— Washington. 

The great rule of conduct for us, in regard to foreign nations, 
is, in extending our commercial relations, to have with them as 
little political connection as possible. So far as we have already 
formed engagements, let them be fulfilled with perfect good 
faith. Here let us stop. 

Europe has a set of primary interests, which to us have none, 
or a very remote relation. Hence she must be engaged in fre- 
quent controversies, the causes of which are essentially foreign 
to our concerns. Hence, therefore, it must be unwise in us to 
implicate ourselves, by artificial ties, in the ordinary vicissitudes 
of her politics, or the ordinary combinations and collisions of 
her friendships and enmities. 

Our detached and distant situation invites and enables us to 
pursue a different course. If we remain one people, under an 
efficient government, the period is not far off when we may defy 
material injury from external annoyance; when we may take 
such an attitude as will cause the neutrality we may at any 
time resolve upon, to be scrupulously respected ] when bellige- 
rent nations, under the impossibility of making acquisitions 
upon us, will not lightly hazard the giving us provocation; 
when we may choose peace or war, as our interest, guided by 
justice, shall counsel. 



SWITZERLAND, AN EXAMPLE,— IIe^hy. 

Switzerland consists of thirteen cantons expressly confede- 
rated for national defence They have stood the shock of four 
hundred years : that country has enjoyed internal tranquillity 
most of that long period. Their dissensions have been, com- 
paratively to those of other countries, very few. What has 
passed in the neighboring countries ? wars, dissensions, and 
intrigues — Grermany involved in the most deplorable civil war 
thirty years successively, continually convulsed with intestine 
7 



74 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

divisions, and harassed by foreign wars — France with her mighty 
monarchy perpetually at war. Compare the peasants of Swit- 
zerland with those of any other mighty nation ; you will find 
them far more happy : for one civil war among them, there have 
been five or six among other nations : their attachment to their 
country, and to freedom, their resolute intrepidity in their 
defence, the consequent security and happiness which they have 
enjoyed, and the respect and awe which these things produce in 
their bordering nations, have signalized those republicans. Their 
valor, sir, has been active ; everything that sets in motion the 
springs of the human heart, engaged them to the protection of 
their inestimable privileges. They have not only secured their 
own liberty, but have been the arbiters of the fate of other 
people. Here, sir, contemplate the triumph of republican 
governments over the pride of monarchy. I acknowledge, sir, 
that the necessity of national defence has prevailed in invigorat- 
ing their councils and arms, and has been, in a considerable 
degree, the means of keeping these honest people together. 
But, sir, they have had wisdom enough to keep together and 
render themselves formidable. Their heroism is proverbial. 
They would heroically fight for their government, and their laws. 
One of the illumined sons of these times would not fight for 
those objects. Those virtuous and simple people have not a 
mighty and splendid president, nor enormously expensive navies 
and armies to support. No, sir, those brave republicans have 
acquired their reputation no less by their undaunted intrepidity, 
than by the wisdom of their frugal and economical policy. Let 
us follow their example, and be equally happy. The honorable 
member advises us to adopt a measure which will destroy our 
bill of rights : for, after hearing his picture of nations, and his 
reasons for abandoning all the powers retained to the states by 
the confederation, I am more firmly persuaded of the impro- 
priety of adopting this new plan in its present shape. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 75 

THE APPEAL TO ^i^J/^S'.— Dickinson. 

Our cause is just. Our uDion is perfect. Our internal re- 
sources are great, and, if necessary, foreign assistance is undoubt- 
edly attainable. AVe gratefully acknowledge, as signal instances 
of Divine favor towards us, that His providence would not permit 
us to be called into this severe controversy until we were grown 
up to our present strength, had been previously exercised in 
warlike operations, and possessed the means of defending our- 
selves. With hearts fortified by these animating reflections, we 
most solemnly, before God and the world, Declare that, exert- 
ing the utmost energy of those powers which our beneficent 
Creator has graciously bestowed upon us, the arms we have 
been compelled by our enemies to assume, we will, in defiance 
of every hazard, with unabating firmness and perseverance, 
employ for the preservation of our liberties; being with one 
mind resolved to die freemen rather than to live slaves. 

Lest this declaration should disquiet the minds of our friends 
and fellow-subjects in any part of the empire, we assure them 
that we mean not to dissolve that union which has so long and 
so happily subsisted between us, and which we sincerely wish 
to see restored. Necessity has not yet driven us into that 
desperate measure, or induced us to excite any other nation to 
war against them. We have not raised armies with ambitious 
designs of separating from Great Britain, and establishing 
independent states. We fight not for glory or for conquest. 
We exhibit to mankind the remarkable spectacle of a people 
attacked by unprovoked enemies, without any imputation or 
even suspicion of ofi*ence. They boast of their privileges and 
civilization, and yet profi'er no milder conditions than servitude 
or death. 

In our own native land, in defence of the freedom that is our 
birth-right, and which we ever enjoyed till the late violation of 
it — for the protection of our property, acquired solely by the 
honest industry of our forefathers and ourselves, against vio- 
lence actually oifered, we have taken up arms. We shall lay 
them down when hostilities shall cease on the part of the 



76 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

aggressors, and all danger of their being renewed shall be 
removed, and not before. 



BRUTUS ON TEE DEATH OF (7J5J^^i?.— Shakspeare. 

Romans, countrymen, and lovers ! Hear me for my cause ; 
and be silent, that you may hear. Believe me for mine honor ; 
and have respect to mine honor, that you may believe. Censure 
me in your wisdom ; and awake your senses, that you may the 
better judge. If there be any in this assembly — any dear 
friend of Caesar's — to him I say, that Brutus' love to Csesar was 
not less than his. If, then, that friend demand why Brutus 
rose against Csesar, this is my answer : Not that I loved Caesar 
less, but that I loved Borne more. Had you rather Caesar were 
living, and die all slaves, than that Caesar were dead, to live all 
freemen ? As Caesar loved me, I weep for him ; as he was for- 
tunate, I rejoice at it ; as he was valiant, I honor him ) but as 
he was ambitious, I slew him. There are tears, for his love ; 
joy, for his fortune; honor, for his valor; and death, for his 
ambition ! Who is here so base, that would be a bondman ? 
If any, speak ; for him have I offended. Who is here so rude, 
that would not be a Boman ? If any, speak ; for him have I 
offended. Who is here so vile, that will not love his country? 
If any, speak ; for him have I offended. I pause for a reply. 

None y Then none have I offended. I have done no more to 
Caesar than you should do to Brutus. The question of his death 
is enrolled in the Capitol : his glory not extenuated, wherein 
he was worthy ; nor his offences enforced, for which he suffered 
death. 

Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony; who, though 
he had no hand in his death, shall receive the benefit of his 
dying, a place in the commonwealth : as which of you shall not ? 
With this I depart : That as I slew my best lover for the good 
of Bome, I have the same dagger for myself, when it shall 
please my country to need my death. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 77 

AMENDMENTS TO THE CONSTITUTION— U^sry, 

I AM constrained to make a few remarks on the absurdity of 
adopting this system^ and relying on the chance of getting it 
amended afterwards. When it is confessed to be replete with 
defects, is it not offering to insult your understandings, to 
attempt to reason you out of the propriety of rejecting it, till 
it be amended ? Does it not insult your judgments to tell you — 
adopt first, and then amend ? Is your rage for novelty so great, 
that you are first to sign and seal, and then to retract ? Is it 
possible to conceive a greater solecism ? I am at a loss what to 
say. You agree to bind yourselves hand and foot — for the sake 
of what ? Of being unbound. You go into a dungeon — for 
what? To get out. Is there no danger when you go in, that 
the bolts of federal authority shall shut you in ? Human na- 
ture never will part from power. Look for an example of a 
voluntary relinquishment of power, from one end of the globe 
to another — you will find none. Nine-tenths of our fellow-men 
have been, and are now, depressed by the most intolerable 
slavery, in the different parts of the world ; because the strong- 
hand of power has bolted them in the dungeon of despotism. 
Review the present situation of the nations of Europe, which 
is pretended to be the freest quarter of the globe. Cast your 
eyes on the countries called free there. Look at the country 
from which we are descended, I beseech you; and although we 
are separated by everlasting, insuperable partitions, yet there 
are some virtuous people there who are friends to human nature 
and liberty. Look at Britain ; see there the bolts and bars of 
power ; see bribery and corruption defiling the fairest fabric that 
ever human nature reared. Can a gentleman, who is an Eng- 
lishman, or who is acquainted with the English history, desire 
to prove these evils f See the efforts of a man descended from 
a friend of America; see the efforts of that man, assisted even 
by the king, to make reforms. But you find ihe faults too 
strong to be amended. Nothing but bloody war can alter them. 
See Ireland : that country groaning from century to century, 
without getting their government amended. Previous adoption 
7* 



78 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

was the fashion there. They sent for amendments from time 
to time, but never obtained them, though pres&ed by the severest 
oppression, till eighty thousand volunteers demanded them sword 
in hand — till the power of Britain was prostrate; when the 
American resistance was crowned with success. Shall we do 
so? If you judge by the experience of Ireland, you must ob- 
tain the amendments as early as possible. But, I ask you again, 
where is the example that a government was amended by those 
who instituted it? Where is the instance of the errors of a 
government rectified by those who adopted them ? 



THE USE OE KNOWLEDGE.—CARm^AL -Wiseman, 

Whosoever shall try to cultivate a wider field, and follow^ 
from day to day, as humbly we have striven here to do, the 
constant progress of every science, careful ever to note the 
influence which it exercises on his more sacred knowledge, shall 
have therein such pure joy and such growing comfort as the 
disappointing eagerness of mere human learning may not sup- 
ply. Such a one I know not unto whom to liken, save to one 
who unites an enthusiastic love of Nature's charms to a sufficient 
acquaintance with her laws, and spends his days in a garden 
of the choicest bloom. And here he seeth one gorgeous flower, 
that has unclasped all its beauty to the glorious sun ; and there 
another is just about to disclose its modester blossom, not yet 
fully unfolded; and beside them, there is one only in the hand- 
stem, giving but slender promise of much display; and yet he 
waiteth patiently, well knowing that the law is fixed whereby it 
too shall pay, in due season, its tribute to the light and heat 
that feed it. Even so the other doth likewise behold one 
science after the other, when its appointed hour is come, and 
its ripening influences have prevailed, unclose some form which 
shall add to the varied harmony of universal truth, which shall 
recompense, to the full, the genial power that hath given it life, 
and, however barren it may have seemed at first, produce some- 
thing that may adorn the temple and altar of God's worship. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 79 

And if he carefully register his own convictions, and add 
them to the collections already formed, of various, converging 
proofs, he assuredly will have accomplished the noblest end for 
which man may live and acquire learning — his own improve- 
ment and the benefit of his kind. For as an old and wise poet 
has written, after a wiser saint : — 

" The chief use then in man of that he knowes, 
Is his paines-taking for the good of all, 
Not fleshly weeping for our own made woes, 
Not laughing from a melancholy gall, 
Not hating from a soul that overflowes 
With bitterness breathed out from inward thrall ; 
But sweetly rather to ease, loose, or binde, 
As need requires, this frail, fallen human kinde." 



TEE DRINKING USAGES OF SOCIETY.— BisnoF Potter. 

The question, then, is not. What may have been proper in 
other days or other lands, in the time of Pliny or of Paul, but 
What is proper now and in our own land. The Apostle points 
us to a case in which to eat meat might cause one's brother to 
offend; and his own magnanimous resolution, under such cir- 
cumstances, he thus avows : ^' If meat make my brother to offend^ 
I will eat no meat while the world stands." Thus, what may at 
one time be but a lawful and innocent liberty, becomes at 
another a positive sin. The true question, then — the only prac- 
tical question for the Christian patriot and philanthropist, is 
this : " Intemperance abounds ! Ought not my personal influ- 
ence, whether by example or by precept, to be directed to its 
suppression ? Can it be suppressed while our present drinking 
usages continue ? In a country where distilled liquors are so 
cheap and so abundant, and where the practice of adulterating 
every species of fermented liquor abounds — in such a country, 
can any practical and important distinction be made between 
different kinds of intoxicating liquors ? If abstinence is to be 
practised at all as a prudential or a charitable act, can it have 



80 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

tnucli practical value unless it be abstinence from all that can 
intoxicate ^'^ These questions are submitted, without fear, to 
the most deliberate and searching scrutiny. 



THE FUTURE GLORY OF AMERICA,— Rausay. 

When I anticipate in imagination the future glory of my 
country, and the illustrious figure it will soon make on the 
theatre of the world, my heart distends with generous pride for 
being an American. What a substratum for empire ! compared 
with which, the foundation of the Macedonian, the Roman, and 
the British sink into insignificance. Some of our large states 
have territory superior to the island of Great Britain, whilst the 
whole together are little inferior to Europe itself. Our inde- 
pendence will people this extent of country with freemen, and 
will stimulate the innumerable inhabitants thereof, by every 
motive, to perfect the acts of government, and to extend human 
happiness. 

I congratulate you on our glorious prospects. Having for 
three long years weathered the storms of adversity, we are at 
length arrived in view of the calm haven of peace and security. 
We have laid the foundations of a new empire, which promises 
to enlarge itself to vast dimensions, and to give happiness to a 
great continent. It is now our turn to figure on the face of the 
earth, and in the annals of the world. The arts and sciences 
are planted among us, and, fostered by the auspicious influence 
of equal governments, are growling up to maturity, while truth 
and freedom flourish by their sides. Liberty, both civil and 
religious, in her noontide blaze, shines forth with unclouded 
lustre on all ranks and denominations of men. 

Ever since the flood, true religion, literature, arts, empire, 
and riches have taken a slow and gradual course from east to 
west, and are now about fixing their long and favorite abode in 
this new western world. Our sun of political happiness is 
already risen, and hath lifted its head over the mountains, 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 81 

illuminating our hemisphere with liberty, light, and polished 
life. Our independence will redeem one quarter of the globe 
from tyranny and oppression, and consecrate it to the chosen 
seat of truth, justice, freedom, learning, and religion. We are 
laying the foundation of happiness for countless millions. 
Generations yet unborn will bless us for the blood-bought 
inheritance we are about to bequeath them. Oh ! happy 
times ! Oh I glorious days ! Oh ! kind, indulgent, bountiful 
Providence, that we live in this highly-favored period, and 
have the honor of helping forward these great events, and of 
suffering in a cause of such infinite importance ! 



EULOGY UPON JOHN C. CALHOUN— Webster. 

Sir, the eloquence of Mr. Calhoun, or the manner of his 
exhibition of his sentiments in public bodies, was part of his 
intellectual character. It grew out of the qualities of his mind. 
It was plain, strong, terse, condensed, concise ; sometimes 
impassioned, still always severe. Rejecting ornament, not often 
seeking far for illustration, his power consisted in the plainness 
of his propositions, in the closeness of his logic, and in the 
earnestness and energy of his manner. These are the qualities, 
as I think, which have enabled him through such a long course 
of years to speak often, and yet always command attention. 
His demeanor as a senator is known to us all — is appreciated, 
venerated by us all. No man was more respectful to others ; no 
man carried himself with greater decorum; no man with supe- 
rior dignity. I think there is not one of us but felt, when he 
last addressed us from his seat in the Senate, — his form still 
erect, with a voice by no means indicating such a degree of 
physical weakness as did in fact possess him, with clear tones, 
and an impressive, and, I may say, imposing manner, — who did 
not feel that he might imagine that he saw before us a senator 
of Rome, when Rome survived. 

Mr. President, he had the basis, the indispensable basis, of 



82 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

all higli character, and that was, unspotted integrity, unim- 
peached honor and character. If he had aspirations, they were 
high, and honorable, and noble. There was nothing grovelling 
or low, or meanly selfish, that came near the head or the heart 
of Mr. Calhoun. Firm in his purpose, perfectly patriotic and 
honest, as I am sure he was, in the principles that he espoused, 
and in the measures that he defended, aside from that large 
regard for that species of distinction that conducted him to 
eminent stations for the benefit of the republic, I do not believe 
he had a selfish motive or selfish feeling. 

However, sir, he may have differed from others of us in his 
political opinions, or his political principles, those principles and 
those opinions will now descend to posterity under the sanction 
of a great name. He has lived long enough, he has done 
enough, and he has done it so well, so successfully, so honor- 
ably, as to connect himself for all time with the records of his 
country. He is now an historical character. Those of us who 
have known him here will find that he has left upon our minds 
and our hearts a strong and lasting impression of his person, his 
character, and his public performances, which, while We live, 
will never be obliterated. We shall hereafter, I am sure, 
indulge in it as a grateful recollection that we have lived in his 
age, that we have been his contemporaries, that we have seen 
him^ and heard him, and known him. We shall delight to 
speak of him to those who are rising up to fill our places. And 
when the time shall come when we ourselves shall go, one after 
another, in succession, to our graves, we shall carry with us a 
deep sense of his genius and character, his honor and integrity, 
his amiable deportment in private life, and the purity of his 
exalted patriotism. 



CAPITAL PUNISHMENT.— Et)W. Livingstox. 

History presents to us the magic glass on which, by looking 
at past, we may discern future events. It is folly not to read; 
it is perversity not to follow its lessons. If the hemlock had 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 83 

not been brewed for feloDS in Athens, would the fatal cup have 
been drained by Socrates ? If the people had not been familiar- 
ized to scenes of judicial homicide, would France or England 
have been disgraced by the useless murder of Louis or of 
Charles ? If the punishment of death had not been sanctioned 
by the ordinary laws of those kingdoms, would the one have 
been deluged with the blood of innocence, of worth, of patriot- 
ism, and of science, in her revolution? Would the best and 
noblest lives of the other have been lost on the scaflFold in her 
civil broils ? Would her lovely and calumniated queen, the 
virtuous Malesherbes, the learned Condorcet — would religion, 
personified in the pious ministers of the altar, courage and 
honor, in the host of high-minded nobles, and science, in its 
worthy representative, Lavoisier — would the daily hecatomb of 
loyalty and worth — would all have been immolated by the 
stroke of the guillotine ; or Russell and Sidney, and the long 
succession of victims of party and tyranny by the axe ? The 
fires of Smithfield would not have blazed, nor, after the lapse 
of ages, should we yet shudder at the name of St. Bartholomew, 
if the ordinary ecclesiastical law had not usurped the attributes 
of divine vengeance, and by the sacrilegious and absurd doc- 
trine, that offences against the Deity were to be punished with 
death, given a pretext to these atrocities. Nor, in the awful 
and mysterious scene on Mount Calvary, would that agony have 
been inflicted, if by the daily sight of the cross, as an instru- 
ment of justice, the Jews had not been prepared to make it one 
of their sacrilegious rage. But there is no end of the examples 
which crowd upon the memory, to show the length to which 
the exercise of this power, by the law, has carried the dreadful 
abuse of it, under the semblance of justice. Every nation has 
wept over the graves of patriots, heroes, and martyrs, sacrificed 
by its own fury. Every age has had its annals of blood. 



84 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER.' 

THE ILLUSTRIOUS TRIO OF STATESMEN.— Hilliard. 

As an orator, Mr. Clay stood unrivalled among the statesmen 
of our times ; and if the power of a statesman is to be measured 
by the control which he exerts over an audience, he will take 
rank among the most illustrious men who, in ancient or modern 
times, have decided great questions by resistless eloquence, 

Mr. Calhoun was the finest type of the pure G-reek intellect 
which this country has ever produced. His speeches resemble 
Grecian sculpture, with all the purity and hardness of marble, 
while they show that the chisel was guided by the hand of a 
master. Demosthenes transcribed the history of Thucydides 
eight times, that he might acquire the strength and majesty of 
his style, and Mr. Calhoun had evidently studied the orations of 
the great Athenian with equal fidelity. He had much of his 
force and ardor, and his bearing was so full of dignity that it was 
easy to fancy, when you heard him, that you were listening to 
an oration from the lips of a Roman senator who had formed his 
style in the severe schools of Greece. 

Mr. Webster's oratory reaches the highest pitch of grandeur. 
He combines the pure philosophical faculty of investigation, 
which characterized the Greek mind, with the athletic power and 
majesty which belonged to the Roman style. There is in his 
orations a blended strength and beauty surpassing anything to 
be found in ancient or modern productions. He stands like a 
statue of Hercules wrought out of gold. He has been some- 
times called the Demosthenes of this country; but the attributes 
which he displayed are not those which belonged to the Athenian 
orator. His speeches display the same power and beauty, and 
equal, if they do not surpass, in consummate ability, the noblest 
orations of Demosthenes ; but he wants the vehemence, the bold- 
ness, the impetuosity of the orator who wielded the fierce demo- 
cracy of Athens at his will, and who, in his impassioned harangues, 
*' shook the Arsenal, and fulmined over Greece.'^ 

Mr. Clay's oratory difi*ered from that of Mr. Webster and of 
Mr. Calhoun, and it was more efi'ective than that of either of his 
contemporaries. Less philosophical than the one^ and less 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 85 

majestic than the other, he surpassed them both in the sway 
which he exerted over the assemblies which he addressed. 
Clear, convincing, impassioned, and powerful, he spoke the lan- 
guage of truth in its most commanding tones, and the deductions 
of reason uttered from his lips seemed to have caught the glow 
of inspiration. 

He realized Mr. Webster's#description of oratory : '^ The clear 
conception outrunning the deductions of logic; the high pur- 
pose; the firm resolve; the dauntless spirit, speaking on the 
tongue, beaming from the eye', informing every feature, and 
urging the whole man onward, right onward, to his object : this, 
this is eloquence ; or, rather, it is something greater and higher 
than all eloquence ; it is action — noble, sublime, godlike action.^' 



THE VALUE OF A NAVY.—^kykrd. 

God has decided that the people of this country should be a 
commercial people. You read that decree in the sea-coast of 
seventeen hundred miles which he has given you ; in the nume- 
rous navigable waters which penetrate the interior of the coun- 
try ; in the various ports and harbors scattered along your shores; 
in your fislieries; in the redundant productions of your soil; 
and more than all, in the enterprising and adventurous spirit of 
your people. It is no more a question whether the people of this 
country shall be allowed to plough the ocean, than it is whether 
they shall be permitted to plough the land. It is not in the 
power of this government, nor would it be if it were as strong 
as the most despotic upon the earth, to subdue the commercial 
spirit, or to destroy the commercial habits of the country. 

Young as we are, our tonnage and commerce surpass those of 
every nation upon the globe but one, and if not ^yasted by the 
deprivations to which they were exposed by their defenceless 
situation, and the more ruinous restrictions to which this govern- 
ment subjected them, it would require not many more years to 
have made the in the greatest in the world. Is this immense 
wealth always to be exposed as a prey to the rapacity of free- 



86 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

booters ? Why will you protect your citizens and their property 
upon land, and leave them defenceless upon the ocean ? As 
your mercantile property increases, the prize becomes more 
tempting to the cupidity of foreign nations. In the course of 
things, the ruins and aggressions which you have experienced 
will multiply, nor will they be restrained while we have no 
appearance of a naval force. ^ 

You must and will have a navy ; but it is not to be created in 
a day, nor is it to be expected, that in its infancy, it will be able 
to cope foot to foot with the full-grown vigor of the navy of 
England. But we are even now capable of maintaining a naval 
force formidable enough to threaten the British commerce, and 
to render this nation an object of more respect and consideration. 



RETIREMENT FROM THE SENATE.— Clay. 

At the time of my entry into this body, which took place in 
December, 1806, I regarded it, and still regard it, as a body 
which may be compared, without disadvantage, to any of a 
similar character which has existed in ancient or modern times; 
whether we look at it in reference to its dignity, its powers, or 
the mode of its constitution ; and I will also add, whether it be 
regarded in reference to the amount of ability which I shall 
leave behind me when 1 retire from this chamber. In insti- 
tuting a comparison between the Senate of the United States 
and similar political institutions of other countries, of France 
and England for example, I am sure the comparison might be 
made without disadvantage to the American Senate. In respect 
to the constitution of these bodies : in England, with only the 
exception of the peers from Ireland and Scotland, and in France 
with no exception, the component parts, the members of these 
bodies, hold their places by virtue of no delegated authority, 
but derive their powers from the crown, either by ancient crea- 
tion of nobility transmitted by force of hereditary descent, or 
by new patents as occasion required an increase of their num- 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 87 

bers. But here. Mr. President, we have the proud title of being 
the representatives of sovereign states or commonwealths. If 
we loo'k at the powers of these bodies in France and England, 
and the powers of this Senate, we shall find that the latter are 
far greater than the former. In both those countries thej have 
the legislative power, in both the judicial with some modifica- 
tions, and in both perhaps a more extensive judicial power than 
is possessed bj this Senate ; but then the vast and undefined 
and undefinable power, the treaty-making power, or at least a 
participation in the conclusion of treaties with foreign powers, 
is possessed by this Senate, and is possessed by neither of the 
others. Another power, too, and one of infinite magnitude, 
that of distributing the patronage of a great nation, which is 
shared by this Senate with the executive magistrate. In both 
these respects we stand upon ground difi'erent from that occu- 
pied by the Houses of Peers of England and of France. And, I 
repeat, that with respect to the dignity which ordinarily pre- 
vails in this body, and with respect to the ability of its members 
during the long period of my acquaintance with it, without 
arrogance or presumption, we may say, in proportion to its num- 
bers, the comparison would not be disadvantageous to us com- 
pared with any Senate either of ancient or modern times. 



THE CHARTER OF RVXXYMEDE.—Lort^ Chatham. 

My lords, I have better hopes of the constitution, and a 
firmer confidence in the wisdom and constitutional authority of 
this House. It is to j/our ancestors, my lords, it is to the 
English barons, that we are indebted for the laws and constitu- 
tion we possess. Their virtues were rude and uncultivated, but 
they were great and sincere. Their understandings were as 
little polished as their manners, but they had hearts to distin- 
guish right from wrong ; they had heads to distinguish truth 
from falsehood; they understood the rights of humanity, and 
they had spirit to maintain them. 

Mj lords, I think that history has not done justice to their 



88 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

conduct, when tliey obtained from their sovereign that great 
acknowledgment of national rights contained in Magna Charta : 
they did not confine it to themselves alone, but delivered it as a 
common blessing to the whole people. They did not say, these 
are the rights of the great barons, or these are the rights of the 
great prelates : — No, my lords ] they said, in the simple Latin 
of the times, 7iuUus liher homo^ and provided as carefully for 
the meanest subject as for the greatest. These are uncouth 
words, and sound but poorly in the ears of scholars ; neither are 
they addressed to the criticism of scholars, but to the hearts of 
free men. These three words, nullus liber homo^ have a meaning 
which ioterests us all : they deserve to be remembered — they 
deserve to be inculcated in our minds — they are worth all the 
classics. Let us not, then, degenerate from the glorious exam- 
pie of our ancestors. Those iron barons (for so I may call them 
when compared with the silken barons of modern days) were 
the guardians of the people; yet their virtues, my lords, were 
never engaged in a question of such importance as the present. 
A breach has been made in the constitution — the battlements 
are dismantled — the citadel is open to the first invader — the 
walls totter — the constitution is not tenable. What remains, 
then, but for us to stand foremost in the breach to repair it^ or 
perish in it? 



REPLY TO THE CHARGE OF ^S CHINE S.—Bemostuehj^s, 

Had iEschines confined his charge to the subject of the pro- 
secution, I too would have proceeded at once to my justification 
of the decree. But since he has wasted no fewer words in the 
discussion of other matters, in most of them calumniating me, 
I deem it both necessary and just, men of Athens, to begin by 
shortly adverting to these points, that none of you may be 
induced by extraneous arguments to shut your ears against my 
defence to the indictment. 

To all his scandalous abuse of my private life, observe my 
plain and honest answer. If you know me to be such as he 
alleged — for I have lived nowhere else but . among you — let not 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 89 

my voice be heard, however transcendent my statesmanship I 
Rise up this instant and condemn me 1 But if, in your opinion 
and judgment, I am far better and of better descent than my 
adversary ; if (to speak without offence) I am not inferior, I or 
mine, to any respectable citizen ) then give no credit to him 
for his other statements — it is plain they were all equally fic- 
tions — but to me let the same good-will, which you have uni- 
formly exhibited upon many former trials, be manifested now. 
With all your malice, iEschines, it was very simple to suppose 
that I should turn from the discussion of measures and policy 
to notice your scandal. I will do no such thing : I am not so 
crazed. Your lies and calumnies about my political life I will 
examine forthwith; for that loose ribaldry I shall have a word 
hereafter, if the jury desire to hear it. 



MODERX TOLERATIOX.—T. F. Marshall. 

Men have been known to fight for their religion and their 
franchises. John Huss was an obscure professor in a German 
university. The Emperor Sigismund, when he burnt him at 
Constance, little dreamed that from the ashes of the friendless 
martyr there would rise the flames of a war in Bohemia which 
would shake the Austrian power, and desolate Germany through 
long years of suffering and of blood. If the persecuting tem- 
per of the sixteenth century is to be renewed here, if American 
Protestantism so far forgets its genius and its mission, as to aid 
in rekindling the religious wars of that terrible period in quest 
of vengeance for the gone centuries of wrong, religion will 
suffer most. True Christianity will veil her face and seek the 
shade, till better times. 3Ien will be divided between a sullen 
and sordid fanaticism on the one side, and a scoffing infidelity 
on the other. Our national characteristics will be lost. Ame- 
rican civilization will have changed its character. Our Federal 
Union will have sacrificed its distinctive traits, and we shall 
have exhibited a failure in the principles with which our gov- 
ernment commenced its career, at which hell itself might exult 
in triumph. 
8* 



90 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

EULOGY ON FEANKLIK—Yavcbet. 

Franklin did not omit any of the means of being useful to 
men, or serviceable to society. He spoke to all conditions, to 
both sexes, to every age. This amiable moralist descended, in 
his writings, to the most artless details; to the most ingenuous 
familiarities ; to the first ideas of a rural, a commercial, and a 
civil life ; to the dialogues of old men and children ; full at 
once of all the verdure and all the maturity of wisdom. In 
short, the prudent lessons arising from the exposition of those 
obscure, happy, easy virtues, which form so many links in the 
chain of a good man's life, derived immense weight from that 
reputation for genius which he had acquired, by being one of 
the first naturalists and greatest philosophers in the universe. 

At one and the same time, he governed nature in the heavens 
and in the hearts of men. Amidst the tempests of the atmo- 
sphere, he directed the thunder ; amidst the storms of society, 
he directed the passions. Think, gejitlemen, with what attentive 
docility, with what religious respect, one must hear the voice of 
a simple man, who preached up human happiness, when it was 
recollected that it was the powerful voice of the same man who 
regulated the lightning. 

He electrified the consciences, in order to extract the de- 
structive fire of vice, exactly in the same manner as he electrified 
the heavens, in order peaceably to invite from them the terrible 
fire of the elements. 

Venerable old man ! august philosopher ! legislator of the 
felicity of thy country, prophet of the fraternity of the human 
race, what ecstatic happiness embellished the end of thy career ! 
From thy fortunate asylum, and in the midst of tliy brothers 
who enjoyed in tranquillity the fruit of thy virtues, and the 
success of thy genius, thou hast sung songs of deliverance. 
The last looks which thou didst cast around theo, beheld Ame- 
rica happy ; France, on the other side of the ocean, free, and a 
sure indication of the approaching freedom and happiness of 
the world. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 91 

THE CONSTIWTION A BILL OF EIGHTS —UAmLTON, 

The constitution is itself, in every rational sense, and to every 
usefal purpose, A bill of rights. The several bills of rights 
in Great Britain, form its constitution, and conversely the con- 
stitution of each state is its bill of rights. In like manner the 
proposed constitution, if adopted, will be the bill of rights of 
the Union. Is it one object of a bill of rights to declare and 
specify the political privileges of the citizens in the structure 
and administration of the government ? This is done in the 
most ample and precise manner in the plan of the convention; 
comprehending various precautions for the public security, 
which are not to be found in any of the state constitutions. Is 
another object of a bill of rights to define certain immunities 
and modes of proceeding, which are relative to personal and 
private concerns ? This we have seen has also been attended to, 
in a variety of cases, in the same plan. Adverting therefore to 
the substantial meaning of a bill of rights, it is absurd to allege 
that it is not to be found in the work of the convention. It 
may be said that it does not go far enough, though it will not 
be easy to make this appear; but it can with no propriety be 
contended that there is no such thing. It certainly must be 
immaterial what mode is observed as to the order of declaring 
the rights of the citizens, if they are provided for in any part 
of the instrument which establishes the government : whence 
it must be apparent that much of what has been said on this 
subject rests merely on verbal and nominal distinctions, entirely 
foreign to the substance of the thino;. 



THE FRENCH E EVOLUTI ON.— Mackintosr. 

Te^I French Revolution began with great and fatal errors. 
These errors produced atrocious crimes. A mild and feeble 
monarchy was succeeded by bloody anarchy, which very shortly 
gave birth to military despotism. France, in a few years, 
described the whole circle of human society. 



92 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

All this was in the order of nature. When every principle 
of authority and civil discipline, when every principle which 
enables some men to command and disposes others to obey, was 
extirpated from the mind by atrocious theories, and still more 
atrocious examples; when every old institution was trampled 
down with contumely, and every new institution covered in its 
cradle with blood; when the principle of property itself, the 
sheet-anchor of society, was annihilated; when in the persons 
of the new possessors, whom the poverty of language obliges us 
to call proprietors, it was contaminated in its source by robbery 
and murder, and it became separated from that education and 
those manners, from that general presumption of superior 
knowledge and more scrupulous probity which form its only 
liberal titles to respect ; when the people were taught to despise 
everything old, and compelled to detest everything new; there 
remained only one principle strong enough to hold society 
together, a principle utterly incompatible, indeed, with liberty, 
and unfriendly to civilization itself, a tyrannical and barbarous 
principle; but, in that miserable condition of human affairs, a 
refuge from still more intolerable evils. I mean the principle 
of military power, which gains strength from that confusion 
and bloodshed in which all the other elements of society are 
dissolved, and which, in these terrible extremities, is the 
cement that preserves it from total destruction. 



THE REIGN OF TE RE OE. —Lord Brougham. 

The Reign of Terror, under which no life was secure for a 
day ; the wholesale butcheries, both of the prisoners in Septem- 
ber, and by the daily executions that soon followed ; the violence 
of the conscription, which filled every family with orphd ^ and 
widows ; the profligate despotism and national disasters under 
the Directory; the military tyranny of Napoleon; the sacrifice 
of millions to slake his thirst of conquest; the invasion of France 
by foreign troops — Pandours, Hussars, Cossacks, twice revelling 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 93 

in tlie spoils of Paris ; the humiliating occupation of the coun- 
try for five years by the allied armies, and her ransom by the 
payment of millions; — these were the consequences, more or less 
remote, of the Eeign of Terror, which so burnt into the memory 
of all Frenchmen the horrors of anarchy, as to make an aversion 
to change for a quarter of a century the prevailing characteristic 
of a people not the least fickle among the nations, and to render 
a continuance of any yoke bearable, compared with the perils 
of casting it off. All these evils were the price paid by the 
respectable classes of France, but especially of Paris, for their 
unworthy dread of resisting the clubs and the mob in 1792. 



AMERICAN PETITIONS.— Lo^D Chatham. 

When your lordships look at the papers transmitted us from 
America ] when you consider their decency, firmness, and wis- 
dom, you cannot but respect their cause and wish to make it 
your own. For myself, I must declare and avow, that in all my 
reading and observation — and it has been my favorite study — I 
have read Thucydides, and have studied and admired the 
master states of the world — that for solidity of reasoning, force 
of sagacity, and wisdom of conclusion, under such a complica- 
tion of difficult circumstances, no nation, or body of men. can 
stand in preference to the General Congress at Philadelphia. 
I trust it is obvious to your lordships, that all attempts to 
impose servitude upon such men, to establish despotism over 
such a mighty continental nation, must be vain, must be fatal. 
We shall be forced ultimately to retract; let us retract while 
we can, not when we must. I say we must necessarily undo 
these violent oppressive acts ; they must be repealed — you will 
repeal them ; I pledge myself for it, that you will in the end 
repeal them ] I stake my reputation on it — I will consent to be 
taken for an idiot, if they are not finally repealed. Avoid, 
then, this humiliating, disgraceful necessity. With a dignity 
becoming your exalted situation, make the first advances to 



94 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

concord, to peace and happiness; for that is your true dignity, 
to act with prudence and justice. That you should first con- 
cede, is obvious, from sound and rational policy. Concession 
comes with better grace and more salutary effect from superior 
power. It reconciles superiority of power with the feelings of 
men, and establishes solid confidence on the foundations of 
affection and gratitude. 



30EN LOCKE AND WILLIAM PiJiVW.— Bancroft. 

Penn, like Plato and Fenelon, maintained ihQ doctrine so 
terrible to despots, that Grod is to be loved for his own sake, and 
virtue practised for its intrinsic loveliness. Locke derives the 
idea of infinity from the senses, describes it as purely negative, 
and attributes it to nothing but space, duration, and number; 
Penn derived the idea from the soul, and ascribed it to truth, 
and virtue, and God. Locke declares immortality a matter with 
which reason has nothing to do, and that revealed truth must be 
sustained by outward signs and visible acts of power ; Penn saw 
truth by its own light, and summoned the soul to bear witness 
to its own glory. Locke believed '^ not so many men in wrong 
opinions as is commonly supposed^ because the greatest part have 
no opinions at all, and do not know what they contend for;" 
Penn likewise vindicated the many, but it was truth was the 
common inheritance of the race. Locke, in his love of tolerance, 
inveighed against the methods of persecution as '' Popish prac- 
tices 'y^ Penn censured no sect, but condemned bigotry of all 
sorts as inhuman. Locke, as an American lawgiver, dreaded a 
too numerous democracy, and reserved all power to wealth and 
the feudal proprietors ; Penn believed that God is in every con- 
science, his light in every soul ; and, therefore, stretching out 
his arms, he built — such are his own words — " a free colony for 
all mankind. ^^ This is the praise of William Penn, that, in an 
age which had seen a popular revolution shipwreck popular 
liberty among selfish factions; which had seen Hugh Peters and 
Henry Vane perish by the hangman's cord and the axe; in an 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 95 

age when Sidney nourished the pride of patriotism rather than 
the sentiment of philanthropy, when Russell stood for the 
liberties of his order, and not for new enfranchisements, when 
Harrington, and Shaftesbury, and Locke, thought government 
should rest on property, — Penn did not despair of humanity, 
and, though all history and experience denied the sovereignty 
of the people, dared to cherish the noble idea of man's capacity 
for self-government. Conscious that there was no room for its 
exercise in England, the pure enthusiast, like Calvin and 
Descartes, a voluntary exile, was come to the banks of the 
Delaware to institute " the Holy Experiment.'' 



THE OFFICE OF A J CTIX?^.— Sydney Smith. 

He who takes the office of a judge, as it now exists in this 
country, takes in his hands a splendid gem, good and glorious, 
perfect and pure. Shall he give it up mutilated, shall he mar 
it, shall he darken it, shall it emit no light^ shall it be valued at 
no price, shall it excite no wonder ? Shall he find it a diamond, 
shall he leave it a stone ? What shall we say to the man who 
would wilfully destroy with fire the magnificent temple of God, 
in which I am now preaching ? Far worse is he who ruins the 
moral edifices of the world, which time and toil, and many 
prayers to God, and many sufi'erings of men, have reared; who 
puts out the light of the times in which he lives, and leaves us 
to wander amid the darkness of corruption and the desolation 
of sin. There may be, there probably is, in this church, some 
young man who may hereafter fill the office of judge, when the 
greater part of those who hear me are dead, and mingled with 
the dust of the grave. Let him remember my words, and let 
them form and fashion his spirit; he cannot tell in what dan- 
gerous and awful times he may be placed ; but as a mariner 
looks to his compass in the calm, and looks to his compass in the 
storm, and never keeps his eyes ofi" his compass, so, in every 
vicissitude of a judicial life, deciding for the people, deciding 



96 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

against the people, protecting the just rights of kings, or restrain- 
ing their unlawful ambition, let him ever cling to that pure, 
exalted, and Christian independence which towers over the little 
motives of life ; which no hope of favor can influence, which 
no effort of power can control. 



LINCOLN'S SECOND INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 

Fellow-Countrymen : At this second appearing to take 
the oath of the presidential office, there is less occasion for an 
extended address than there was at the first. Then a statement 
somewhat in detail of a course to be pursued seemed very 
fitting and proper. Now, at the expiration of four years, 
during which public declarations have constantly been called 
forth on every point and phase of the great contest which still 
absorbs the attention and engrosses the energies of the nation, 
little that is new could be presented. 

The progress of our arms, upon which all else chiefly depends, 
is as well known to the public as to myself, and it is, I trust, 
reasonably satisfactory and encouraging to all. With high hope 
for the future, no prediction in regard to it is ventured. On 
the occasion corresponding to this four years ago, all thoughts 
were anxiously directed to an impending civil war. All dreaded 
it, all sought to avoid it. While the inaugural address was 
being delivered from this place, devoted altogether to saving 
the Union without war, insurgent agents were in the city seek- 
ing to destroy it without war, seeking to dissolve the Union 
and divide the effects by negotiation. 

Both parties deprecated war ] but one of them would make 
war rather than let the nation survive, and the other would 
accept war rather than let it perish ; and the war came. 

One-eighth of the whole population were colored slaves, not 
distributed generally over the Union, but located in the south- 
ern part of it. These slaves constituted a peculiar and powerful 
interest. All knew that this interest was somehow the cause of 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 97 

the war. To strengthen, perpetuate, and extend this interest 
was the object for which the insurgents would rend the Union 
by war, while Government claimed no right to do more than to 
restrict the territorial enlargement of it. Neither party ex- 
pected the magnitude or the duration which it has already 
attained. Neither anticipated that the cause of the conflict 
might cease even before the conflict itself should cease. Each 
looked for an easier triumph, and a result less fundamental and 
astounding. Both read the same Bible, and pray to the same 
God, and each invokes his aid against the other. It may seem 
strange that any man should dare to ask a just God's assistance 
in wringing his bread from the sweat of other men's faces. 

But let us judge not, that we be not judged. The prayer 
of both should not be answered. That of neither has been 
answered fully. The Almighty has his own purposes. '' Woe 
unto the world because of offences, for it must needs be that 
offences come ; but woe to that man by whom the offence 
cometh." If we shall suppose that American slavery is one of 
these offences, which, in the providence of God, must needs 
come, but which, havitig continued through his appointed time, 
he now wills to remove, and that he gives to both North and 
'South this terrible war as the woe due to those by whom the 
offence came, shall we discern therein any departure from those 
divine attributes which the believers in a living God always 
ascribe to him ? 

Fondly do we hope, fervently do we pray that this mighty 
scourge of war may speedily pass away. Yet, if God wills that 
it continue until all the wealth piled by the bondman's two 
hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and 
until every drop of blood drawn with the lash shall be paid by 
another drawn with the sword, as was said three thousand years 
ago, so still it must be said that the judgments of the Lord are 
true and righteous altogether. 

\Yith malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness 

in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on 

to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation's wound, to 

care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow 

9 G 



98 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

and his orphans, to do all which may achieve and cherish a 
just and a lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations. 



DUELLING.— lE^L. NoTT. 



Absurd as duelling is, were it absurd only, though we might 
smile at the weakness and pity the folly of its abettors, there 
would be no occasion for seriously attacking them. But, to what 
has been said, I add, that duelling is rash and presumptuous. 
Life is the gift of God, and it was never bestowed to be sported 
with. To each, the sovereign of the universe has marked out a 
sphere to move in, and assigned a part to act. This part respects 
ourselves not only, but others also. Each lives for the benefit 
of all. As in the system of nature the sun shines, not to dis- 
play its own brightness, and answer its own convenience, but to 
warm, enlighten, and bless the world; so in the system of ani- 
mated beings, there is a dependence, a correspondence and a 
relation through an infinitely extended, dying, and reviving uni- 
verse, in which no man liveth to himself, and no Tnan dieth to 
himself. Friend is related to friend ; the father to his family ; 
the individual to community. To every member of which, hav- 
ing fixed his station and assigned his duty, the God of nature 
says, " Keep this trust — defend this post.^^ For whom ? For 
thy friends — thy family — thy country. And having received 
such a charge, and for such a purpose, to desert it is rashness 
and temerity. 

Since the opinions of men are as they are, do you ask, how 
you shall avoid the imputation of cowardice, if you do not fight 
when you are injured ? Ask your family how you will avoid the 
imputation of cruelty — ask your conscience how you will avoid 
the imputation of guilt — ask God how you will avoid his male- 
diction if you do. These are previous questions. Let these 
first be answered, and it will be easy to reply to any which may 
follow them. If you only accept a challenge, when you believe 
in your conscience that duelling is wrong, you act the coward. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 99 

The dastardly fear of the world governs you. Awed by its 
menaces, you conceal your sentiments, appear in disguise, and 
act in guilty conformity to principles not your own, and that, too, 
in the most solemn moment, and when engaged in an act which 
exposes you to death. 

But if it be rashness to accept, how passing rashness is it, in 
a sinner, - to ^ii;e a challenge? Does it become him, whose life 
is measured out by crimes, to be extreme to mark, and punc- 
tilious to resent, whatever is amiss in others ? Must the duellist, 
who now, disdaining to forgive, so imperiously demands satisfac- 
tion to the uttermost — must this man, himself trembling at the 
recollection of his offences, presently appear a suppliant before 
the mercy-seat of God ? Imagine this, and the case is not 
imaginary, and you cannot conceive an instance of greater incon- 
sistency or of more presumptuous arrogance. Wherefore, avenge 
not yourselves^ hut rather give "place unto wrath ; for vengeance 
is mine^ I will rejpay^ saith the LoRD. 



THE UNIVERSAL EMPIRE OF DEATH.— D. S. Doggett. 

Contemplate for a moment the nature of that event which 
puts the limit to human life, whether conditionally or otherwise. 
And, here, we cannot forbear a reflection, upon the universality 
of this awful curse. It has smitten with blasting and mildew 
every earthly object. The whole assemblage of living beings, 
originally designed to luxuriate in the vigor, and to sparkle in 
the glories of uninterrupted existence, is doomed to die. The 
glow-worm must extinguish his little spark in the night of death. 
The myriads of insects that crawl upon the earth, or float upon 
the atmospheric wave, must die. Quadrupeds, fishes, fowls, must 
die. Vegetation must die. And, last of all, man himself must 
die : and the world, instead of being a living temple, animated 
and adorned with harmonious orders of rejoicing creatures, must 
become their common vortex, one vast sepulchre, the tomb of 
all that hath life. Here, death reisrus in dark and dismal 



100 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

dignity, from age to age, and from pole to pole. In all pro- 
bability, ours is the only spot over which his dread dominion 
extends. In other places, existence, beyond a doubt, yet glitters 
in primeval beauty. The angel of death has never visited their 
heathful abodes, to pour his vial on the air, to scatter over them 
the seeds of consumption, and to wake from their happy popula- 
tion the wail of lamentation and of woe. Here we breathe the 
infected atmosphere of a loathsome hospital, and while we wit- 
ness the havoc which appals us, we expire in our turn. 



ADDRESS AT GETTYSBURG.— Lincoln. 

Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth 
upon this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and 
dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. 
Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that 
nation — or any nation so conceived and so dedicated — can long 
endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We 
are met to dedicate a portion of it as the final resting-place of 
those who have given their lives that that nation might live. 

It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. 
But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, 
we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, 
who struggled here, have consecrated it far above our power to 
add or to detract. The world will very little note, nor long 
remember, what we say here 3 but it can never forget what they 
did here. 

It is for us, the living, rather to be dedicated here to the 
unfinished work that they have thus far so nobly carried on. It 
is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining 
before us ; that from these honored dead we take increased devo- 
tion to that cause for which they here gave the last full measure 
of devotion ; that we here highly resolve that these dead shall 
not have died in vain } that the nation shall, under God, have a 
new birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by 
the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 101 

GLORIOUS NEW ENGLAND.-^. S. Prentiss. 

Glorious New England ! thou art still true to thj ancient 
fame, and worthy of thy ancestral honors. We, thy children, 
have assembled in this far distant land to celebrate thy birth- 
day. A thousand fond associations throng upon us. roused by 
the spirit of the hour. On thy pleasant valleys rest, like sweet 
dews of morning, the gentle recollections of our early life ; 
around thy hills and mountains cling, like gathering mists, the 
mighty memories of the Revolution ; and far away in the horizon 
of thy past gleam, like thy own bright northern lights, the 
awful virtues of our pilgrim sires ! But while we devote this 
day to the remembrance of our native land, we forget not that 
in which our happy lot is cast. We exult in the reflection, that 
though we count by thousands the miles which separate us from 
our birth-place, still our country is the same. We are no exiles 
meeting upon the banks of a foreign river, to swell its waters 
with our home-sick tears. Here floats the same banner which 
rustled above our boyish heads, except that its mighty folds are 
wider, and its glittering stars increased in number. 

The sons of New England are found in every state of the 
broad republic ! In the East, the South, and the unbounded 
W^est, their blood mingles freely with every kindred current. 
We have but changed our chamber in the paternal mansion ; 
in all its rooms we are at home, and all who inhabit it are our 
brothers. To us the Union has but one domestic hearth ; its 
household gods are all the same. Upon us, then, peculiarly 
devolves the duty of feeding the fires upon that kindly hearth ; 
of guarding with pious care those sacred household gods 

We cannot do with less than the whole Union ; to us it admits 
of no division. In the veins of our children flows Northern 
and Southern blood ; how shall it be separated ? — who shall put 
asunder the best affections of the heart, the noblest instincts of 
our nature ? We love the land of our adoption : so do we that 
of our birth. Let us ever be true to both ] and always exert 
ourselves in maintaining the unity of our country, the integrity 
of the repubHc. 
9* 



102 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Accursed, then, be the hand put forth to loosen the golden 
cord of union ! thrice accursed the traitorous lips which shall 
propose its severance ! 

But no ! the Union cannot be dissolved ] its fortunes are too 
brilliant to be marred ; its destinies too powerful to be resisted. 
Here will be their greatest triumph, their most mighty de- 
velopment. 

And when, a century hence, this Crescent City shall have 
filled her golden horns; — when within her broad-armed port 
shall be gathered the products of the industry of a hundred 
millions of freemen ; — when galleries of art and halls of learning 
shall have made classic this mart of trade ] — then may the sons 
of the Pilgrims, still wandering from the bleak hills of the 
North, stand up on the banks of the Great River, and exclaim, 
with mingled pride and wonder, — Lo ! this is our country ] — 
when did the world ever behold so rich and magnificent a city — 
60 great and glorious a republic ! 



PATRIOTISM A CHRISTIAN VIRTUE.—IIxjntington. 

Patriotism, that is, when it is a principle, and not a mere 
blind instinct of the blood, is an outgrowth and a part of the 
faith and honor of the Almighty. Analyze it, and you will see 
it so. For patriotism is only disinterested devotion to the jus- 
tice, the power, the protection, the right, embodied, after a cer- 
tain fashion and degree, in the state and its subjects. It is not 
attachment to the parchment of a constitution, to the letter of 
an instrument, to the visible insignia of authority, to a strip of 
painted cloth at a masthead, to a mass of legal precedents and 
traditions, nor always to the person of the sovereign. It is not 
a personal interest in the people of the nation, for the most of 
one's fellow-citizens are unknown, and the few that are met may 
awaken no special regard. Instituted ideas, — as justice, power, 
protection, — organized into a national government, and lifted up 
for the defence of the country, are what inspire an intelligent 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 103 

loyalty, and the same ideas have their perfect embodiment in 
the person of God. On the other hand, religion, veneration for 
the Creator, involves a consistent regard for the welfare of great 
bodies of his family. By the laws of the human nature he has 
fashioned, this will mount to enthusiasm, as our relations to any 
one body grow intimate, or look back to an antiquity, or own a 
history of common sufferings. Less elevated elements may 
intermix. But whichever you take first, — the feeling for the 
state, or for the Grod of states, — the other clings to it, and comes 
logically with it. 



THE INTEMPERATE HUSBAND.— Sfragve, 

It is, my friends, in the degradation of a husband by intem- 
perance, where she who has ventured everything feels that all 
is lost. Who shall protect her when the husband of her choice 
insults and oppresses her ? What shall delight her, when she 
shrinks from the sight of his face and trembles at the sound of 
his voice ? The hearth is indeed dark that he has made deso- 
late. There, through the dull midnight hour, her griefs are 
whispered to herself 3 her bruised heart bleeds in secret. There, 
while the cruel author of her distress is drowned in distant 
revelry, she holds her solitary vigil, waiting yet dreading his 
return, that is only to wring from her by unkindness tears even 
more scalding than those she sheds over his transgression ^ 

To fling a deeper gloom across the present, memory turns back 
and broods upon the past. The joys of other days come over 
her, as if only to mock her grieved and weary spirit. She recalls 
the ardent lover, whose graces won her from the home of her 
infancy; the enraptured father, who bent with such delight over 
his new-born children ; and she asks if this can be the same — 
this sunken being, who has now nothing for her but the sot^s 
disgusting brutality ; nothing for those abashed and trembling 
children but the sot's disgusting example. 

Can we wonder that, amid these agonizing moments, the 
tender cords of violated affection should snap asunder ? that the 



104 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

scorned and deserted wife should confess, " tliere is no killing 
like that which kills the heart'' ? that though it would have 
been hard to kiss for the last tirue the cold lips of a dead hus- 
band, and lay his body for ever in the dust, it is harder still to 
behold him so debasing life that even death would be greeted in 
mercy ? 

Had he died in the light of his goodness, bequeathing to his 
family the inheritance of an untarnished name and the example 
of virtues that should blossom for his sons and daughters from 
the tomb, though she would have wept bitterly indeed, the tears 
of grief would not have been also the tears of shame. She 
beholds him, fallen from the station he once adorned, degraded 
from eminence to ignominy ; at home turning his dwelling to 
darkness and its holy endearments to mockery; abroad, thrust 
from the companionship of the worthy^ a self-branded outlaw. 



THE RUINED FAMILY.— l^Ymo. . 

The depopulating pestilence that walketh at noonday — the 
carnage of cruel and devastating war — can scarcely exhibit 
their victims in a more terrible array than ex termi Dating drunk- 
enness. 

I have seen a promising family spring up from the parent 
trunk, and stretch abroad its populous limbs like a flowering 
tree covered with green and healthy foliage. I have seen the 
unnatural decay beginning upon the yet tender leaf, gnawing 
like a worm in an unopened bud, while they dropped off, one 
by one, and the ruined shaft stood alone until the winds and 
rains of many a sorrow laid that too in the dust. On one of 
those holy days, when the patriarch, rich in virtue as in years, 
gathered about him the great and the little ones of his fiock, 
his sons and his daughters, I too sat at the board, I pledged 
therein hospitable health, and expatiated with delight upon the 
eventful future, while the good old man, warmed in the genial 
glow of youthful enthusiasm, wiped a tear from his eye. He 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 105 

was happy. I met them again when the rolling year brought 
the festive season round. But all were not there. The kind 
old man sighed as his suffused eye dwelt on the then unoccupied 
seat, but joy yet came to his relief, and he is happy. A parent's 
love knows no diminution — time, distance, poverty, shame, but 
give intensity and strength to that passion before which all 
others dissolve and melt away. The board was spread, but the 
guests came not. The man cried, '^ Where are my children ?'' 
and echo answered, " Where ?'^ His heart broke, for they were 
not. Could not Heaven have spared him this affliction ? Alas 1 
the demon of drunkenness had been there. They had fallen 
victims to his spell ; and one short month sufficed to cast the 
veil of oblivion over the old man^s sorrow and the young one's 
shame. They are all dead. 



INTEMPERANCE.— "Lo^D Chesterfield. 

Luxury, my lords, is to be taxed, but vice prohibited, let the 
difficulty in the law be what it will. Vice is not properly to be 
taxed, but suppressed. The use of things which are simply 
hurtful in their own nature, and in every degree, is to be pro- 
hibited. None, my lords, ever heard, in any nation, of a tax 
upon theft or adultery, because a tax implies a license granted 
for the use of that which is taxed to all who are willing to pay 
for it. Drunkenness is universally, and in all circumstances, an 
evil^ and therefore ought not to be taxed, but punished. We 
are told that the trade of distilling is very extensive — that it 
employs great numbers — that a large capital is invested in it — 
and therefore it is not to be prohibited. But it appears to me, 
that since the spirit which distillers produce is allowed to en- 
feeble the limbs, vitiate the blood, pervert the heart, and obscure 
the intellect, that th^ number of distillers should be no argu- 
ment in their favor ] for I never heard that a law against theft 
was repealed or delayed because thieves were numerous. It 
appears to me, that if so formidable a body are confederated 
against the virtue and the lives of their fellow- citizens, it is 



106 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

time to put an end to tlie havoc, and to interpose, while it is yet 
in our power, to stop the destruction. It is said distillers have 
arrived at exquisite skill in their business. But, in my judg- 
ment, it is no great use to mankind to prepare for them palatable 
poison ; nor shall I ever contribute my interest for the reprieve 
of a murderer, because he has, by long practice, obtained great 
dexterity in his trade. If their liquors are so delicious that the 
people are tempted to their own destruction, let us at length, 
my lords, secure them from their fatal draught, by bursting the 
vials that contain them. Let us crush at once these artists in 
human slaughter, who have reconciled their countrymen to sick- 
ness and ruin, and spread over the pitfalls of debauchery such 
bait as cannot be resisted. I am very far from thinking that 
there are, tJiis year, any peculiar reasons for tolerating murder ; 
nor can I conceive why this manufacture is to be held sacred 
now, if it is to be destroyed hereafter. 



THE HEAVENS PROCLAIM THE DEITY,— 0, M. Mitchel. 

Would you gather some idea of the eternity past of God's 
existence, go to the astronomer, and bid him lead you with him 
in one of his walks through space; and, as he sweeps outward 
from object to object, from universe to universe, remember that 
the light from those filmy stains on the deep pure blue of heaven, 
now falling on your eye, has been traversing space for a million 
of years. Would you gather some knowledge of the omnipotence 
of Grod, weigh the earth on which we dwell, then count the 
millions of its inhabitants that have come and gone for the last 
six thousand years. Unite their strength into one arm, and test 
its power in an efi"ort to move this earth. It could not stir it a 
single foot in a thousand years ; and yet under the omnipotent 
hand of God, not a minute passes that it does not fly for more 
than a thousand miles. But this is a mere atom ; — the most 
insignificant point among His innumerable worlds. At His 
bidding, every planet, and satellite, and comet, and the sun 
himself, fly onward in their appointed courses. His single arm 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 107 

guides the millions of sweeping suns, and around His throne 
circles the great constellation of unnumbered universes. 

Would you comprehend the idea of the omniscience of God, 
remember that the highest pinnacle of knowledge reached by 
the whole human race, by the combined efforts of its brightest 
intellects, has enabled the astronomer to compute approximately 
the perturbations of the planetary worlds. He has predicted 
roughly the return of half a score of comets. But God has 
computed the mutual pei'turbations of millions of suns, and 
planets, and comets, and worlds, without number, through 
the ages that are passed, and throughout the ages which are 
yet to come, not approximately, but with perfect and absolute 
precision. The universe is in motion, — system rising above 
system, cluster above cluster, nebula above nebula, — all majes- 
tically sweeping around under the providence of God, who alone 
knows the end from the beginning, and before whose glory and 
power all intelligent beings, whether in heaven or on earth, 
should bow with humility and awe. 

Would you gain some idea of the ivisdom of God, look to the 
admirable adjustments of the magnificent retinue of planets 
and satellites which sweep around the sun. Every globe has 
been weighed and poised, every orbit has been measured and 
bent to its beautiful form. All is changing, but the laws fixed 
by the wisdom of God, though they permit the rocking to and 
fro of the system, never introduce disorder, or lead to destruc- 
tion. All is perfect and harmonious, and the music of the 
spheres that burn and roll around our sun is echoed by that of 
ten- millions of moving worlds, that sing and shine around the 
brierht suns that reiorn above. 



ORATION AGAINST CATILINE.— Cicero. 

How far, Catiline, wilt thou abuse our patience ? How 
long shalt thou baffle justice in thy mad career? To what 
extreme wilt thou carry thy audacity r' Art thou nothing 
daunted by the nightly watch posted to secure the Palatium ? 



108 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Nothing, by the city guards? Nothing, by the rally of all good 
citizens ? Nothing, by the assembling of the Senate in this 
fortified place ? Nothing, by the averted looks of all here pre- 
sent? Seest thou not that all thy plots are exposed ? — that thy 
wretched conspiracy is laid bare to every man^s knowledge here 
in the Senate ? — that we are well aware of thy proceedings of 
last night; of the night before; — the place of meeting, the com- 
pany convoked, the measures concerted ? Alas, the. times I 
Alas, the public morals ! The Senate understands all this. The 
consul sees it. Yet the traitor lives ! Lives ? Ay, truly, and 
confronts us here in council — takes part in our deliberations — 
and, with his measuring eye, marks out each man of us for 
slaughter ! And we, all this while, strenuous that we are, think 
we have amply discharged our duty to the state, if we but shun 
this madman^s sword and fury ! 

Long since, Catiline, ought the consul to have ordered thee 
to execution, and brought upon thy own head the ruin thou hast 
been meditating against others ! There was that virtue once in 
E-ome, that a wicked citizen was held more execrable than the 
deadliest foe. We have sl law still, Catiline, for thee. Think 
not that we are powerless because forbearing. We have a 
decree — though it rests among our archives like a sword in its 
scabbard — a decree by which thy life would be made to pay the 
forfeit of thy crimes. And, should I order thee to be instantly 
seized and put to death, I make just doubt whether all good men 
would not think it done rather too late than any man too cruelly. 
But, for good reasons, I will yet defer the blow long since 
deserved. Then will I doom thee, when no man is found so 
lost, so wicked, nay, so like thyself, but shall confess that it was 
justly dealt. W^hile there is one man that dares defend thee, 
live ! But thou shalt live so beset, so surrounded, so scrutinized 
by the vigilant guards that I have placed around thee, that thou 
shalt not stir a foot against the republic without my knowledge. 
There shall be eyes to detect thy slightest movement, and ears 
to catch thy wariest wliisper, of which thou shalt not dream. 
The darkness of night shall not cover thy treason — the walls of 
privacy shall not stifle its voice. Baffled on all sides, thy most 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 109 

secret counsels clear as noonday, what canst thou now have in 
view? Proceed, plot, conspire as thou wilt; there is nothing 
you can contrive, nothing you can propose, nothing you can 
attempt, which I shall not know, hear, and promptly under- 
stand. Thou shalt soon be made aware that I am even more 
active in providing for the preservation of the state than thou 
in plotting its destruction ! 



THE UNITED STATES AND THE CHEROKEE S.—\Yirt, 

It is with no ordinary feelings that I am about to take leave 
of this cause. The existence of the remnant of a once great 
and mighty nation is at stake, and it is for your honors to say 
whether they shall be blotted out from the creation, in utter disre- 
gard of all our treaties. Their cause is one that must come home 
to every honest and feeling heart. They have been true and 
faithful to us^ and have a right to expect a corresponding fidelity 
on our part. Our wish has been their law. We asked them to 
become civilized, and they became so. They have even adopted 
our resentments, and in our war with the Seminole tribes they 
voluntarily joined our arms, and gave effectual aid in driving 
back those barbarians from the very state that now oppresses 
them. They threw upon the field a body of men who proved, 
by their martial bearing, their descent from the noble race that 
were once the lords of these extensive forests. 

May it please your honors, this people have refused to us no 
gratification which it has been in their power to grant. They 
are here now in the last extremity, and with them must perish 
the honor of the American name for ever. We have pledged, 
for their protection and for the guarantee of the remainder of 
their lands, the faith and honor of our nation — a faith and 
honor never sullied, nor even drawn into question, until now. 
We promised them, and they trusted us. They trust us still. 
Shall they be deceived ? They would as soon expect to see their 
rivers run upward on their sources, or the sun roll back in his 
10 



110 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

career, as that the United States would prove false to them, and 
false to the word so solemnly pledged by their Washington, and 
renewed and perpetuated by his illustrious successors. 

With the existence of this people the faith of our nation, I re- 
peat it, is fatally linked. The blow which destroys them quenches 
for ever our own glory ; for what glory can there be, of which 
a patriot can be proud, after the good name of his country shall 
have departed ? We may gather laurels on the field, and trophies 
on the ocean, but they will never hide this foul and bloody blot 
upon our escutcheon. " Remember the Cherokee nation V will 
be answer enough to the proudest boast that we can ever make 
—answer enough to cover with confusion the face and the heart 
of every man among us, in whose bosom the last spark of grace 
has not been extinguished. 

I will hope for better things. There is a spirit that will yet 
save us. I trust that we shall find it here — here, in this sacred 
court; where no foul and malignant demon of party enters to 
darken the understanding, or to deaden the heart, but where all 
is clear, calm, pure, vital, and firm. I cannot believe that this 
honorable court, possessing the power of preservation, will stand 
by, and see these people stripped of their property, and extir- 
pated from the earth, while they are holding up to us their 
treaties, and claiming the fulfilment of our engagements. If 
truth, and faith, and honor, and justice, have fled from every 
other part of our country, we shall find them here. If not, our 
sun has gone down in treachery, blood, and crime, in the face 
of the world ; and, instead of being proud of our country, as 
heretofore, we may well call upon the rocks and mountains to 
hide our shame from earth and from heaven. 



ROBESPIERRE'S LAST SPEECK 

The enemies of the republic call me tyrant ! Were I such, 
they would grovel at my feet. I should gorge them with 
gold — I should grant them impunity for their crimes — and they 
would be grateful. Were I such, the kings we have vanquished, 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. m 

far from denouncing Robespierre, would lend me their guilty 
support. There would be a covenant between them and me. 
Tyranny must have tools. But the enemies of tyranny — whither 
does their path tend ? To the tomb, and to immortality ! What 
tyrant is my protector ? To what faction do I belong ? Your- 
selves ! What faction, since the beginning of the Revolution, 
has crushed and annihilated so many detected traitors ? You — 
the people — our principles — are that faction ! A faction to which 
I am devoted, and against which all the scoundrelism of the day 
is banded ! 

The confirmation of the republic has been my object; and I 
know that the republic can be established only on the eternal 
basis of morality. Against me, and against those who hold 
kindred principles, the league is formed. My life ? oh ! my life, 
I abandon without a regret ! I have seen the past; and I foresee 
the future. What friend of his country would v/ish to survive 
the moment when he could no longer serve it — when he could 
no longer defend innocence against oppression ? Wherefore 
should I continue in an order of things where intrigue eternally 
triumphs over truth; where justice is mocked; where passions 
the most abject, or fears the most absurd, override the sacred 
interests of humanity? In witnessing the multitude of vices 
which the torrent of the Revolution has rolled in turbid com- 
munion with its civic virtues, I confess that I have sometimes 
feared that I should be sullied in the eyes of posterity, by the 
impure neighborhood of unprincipled men, who had thrust them- 
selves into association with the sincere friends of humanity; and 
I rejoice that these conspirators against my country have now, 
by their reckless rage, traced deep the line of demarcation 
between themselves and all true men. 

Question history, and learn how all the defenders of liberty, 
in all times, have been overwhelmed by calumny. But their 
traducers died also. The good and the bad disappear alike from 
the earth ; but in very different conditions. Frenchmen ! 
my countrymen I let not your enemies, with their desolating 
doctrines, degrade your souls, and enervate your virtues ! No, 
Chaumette, no ! Death is not '' an eternal sleep T' Citizens ! 



112 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

efface from the tomb that motto, graven by sacrilegious hands, 
which spreads over all nature a funeral crape, takes from op- 
pressed innocence its support, and affronts the beneficent dis- 
pensation of death ! Inscribe rather thereon these words : 
'^ Death is the commencement of immortality !'^ I leave to the 
oppressors of the people a terrible testament, which I proclaim 
with the independence befitting one whose career is so nearly 
ended; it is the awful truth — '' Thou shalt die V^ 



CATILINE DENOUNCED.— Cicero. 

You see this day, Eomans, the republic, and all your lives, 
your goods, your fortunes, your wives and children, this home 
of most illustrious empire, this most fortunate and beautiful 
city, by the great love of the immortal gods for you, by my 
labors, and counsels, and dangers, snatched from fire and sword, 
and almost from the very jaws of fate, and preserved and re- 
stored to you. 

And if those days on which we are preserved are not less 
pleasant to us, or less illustrious, than those on w^hich we are 
born, because the joy of being saved is certain, the good for- 
tune of being born uncertain, and because we are born without 
feeling it, but we are preserved wdth great delight; ay, since 
we have, by our affection and by our good report, raised to the 
immortal gods that Romulus who built tlys city, he, too, who 
has preserved this city, built by him, and embellished as you 
see it, ought to be held in honor by you and your posterity; for 
we have extinguished flames which were almost laid under and 
placed around the temples and shrines, and houses and walls of 
the whole city; we have turned the edge of swords drawn 
against the republic, and have turned aside their points from 
your throats. And since all this has been displayed in the 
senate, and made manifest, and detected by me, I will now ex- 
plain it briefly, that you, citizens, that are as yet ignorant of 
it, and are in suspense, may be able to see how great the danger 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 113 

was, how evident and by what means it was detected and arrested. 
First of all, since Catiline, a few days ago, burst out of the 
city, when he had left behind the companions of his wicked- 
ness, the active leaders of this infamous war, I have continually 
watched and taken care, Romans, of the means by which we 
might be safe amid such great and such carefully-concealed 
treachery. 



LORD CHATHAM' S SPEECH IN DEFENCE OF AMERICA, 

America, my lords, cannot be reconciled to this country — 
she ought not to be reconciled — till the troops of Britain are 
withdrawn. How can America trust you, with the bayonet at 
her breast? How can she suppose that you mean less than 
bondage or death ? I therefore move that an address be pre- * 
sented to his majesty, advising that immediate orders be de- 
spatched to General Gage, for removing his majesty's forces 
from the town of Boston. The way must be immediately opened 
for reconciliation. It will soon be too late. An hour now lost 
in allaying ferments in America may produce years of calamity. 
Never will I desert, for a moment, the conduct of this weighty 
business. Unless nailed to my bed by the extremity of sickness, 
I will pursue it to the end. I will knock at the door of this 
sleeping and confounded ministry, and will, if it be possible, 
rouse them to a sense of their danger. 

I contend not for indulgence, but for justice, to America. 
What is our right to persist in such cruel and vindictive acts 
against a loyal, respectable people ? They say you have no right 
to tax them without their consent. They say truly. Repre- 
sentation and taxation must go together ; they are inseparable. 
I therefore urge and conjure your lordships immediately to adopt 
this conciliating measure. If illegal violences have been, as it 
is said, committed in America, prepare the way — open the door 
of possibility — for acknowledgment and satisfaction; but proceed 
not to such coercion — such proscription : cease your indiscrimi- 
nate inflictions; amerce not thirty thousand; oppress not three 
10* H 



114 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

millions; irritate them not to unappeasable rancor, for the fault 
of forty or fifty. Such severity of injustice must for ever render 
incurable the wounds you have inflicted. What though you 
march from town to town, from province to province ? What 
though you enforce a temporary and local submission; — how 
shall you secure the obedience of the country you leave behind 
you in your progress ? — how grasp the dominion of eighteen 
hundred miles of continent, populous in numbers, strong in valor, 
liberty, and the means of resistance ? 

The spirit which now resists your taxation in America, is the 
same which formerly opposed loans, benevolences, and ship- 
money, in England ; — the same spirit which called all England 
on its legs, and, by the Bill of Rights, vindicated the English 
Constitution ; — the same spirit which established the great funda- 
mental essential maxim of your liberties, that no subject of Eng- 
land shall he taxed hut hy his own consent. This glorious Whig 
spirit animates three millions in America, who prefer poverty, 
with liberty, to gilded chains and sordid affluence; and who will 
die in defence of their rights as men, as freemen. What shall 
oppose this spirit, aided by the congenial flame glowing in the 
breast of every Whig in England ? " 'Tis liberty to liberty 
engaged,^^ that they will defend themselves, their families, aod 
their country. In this great cause they are immovably allied : 
it is the alliance of Grod and natui^e — immutable, eternal — fixed 
as the firmament of heaven. 



ON BEING CONVICTED OF HIGH TREASON--^mmett. 

What have I to say, why sentence of death should not be 
pronounced on me according to law ? I have nothing to say 
that can alter your predetermination, nor that will become me 
to say with any view to the mitigation of that sentence which 
you are here to pronounce, and which I musf abide by. But I 
have that to say which interests me more than life, and which 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 115 

you have labored (as was necessarily your office to do in the 
present circumstances of this oppressed country) to destroy. I 
have much to say why my reputation should be rescued from 
the load of false accusation and calumny which has been heaped 
upon it. 

I do not imagine, seated where you are, your minds can be so 
free from impurity as to receive the least impression from what 
I am going to utter. I have no hopes that I can anchor my 
character in the breast of a court constituted and trammelled as 
this is. I only wish, and it is the utmost I expect, that your 
lordships may suffer it to float down your memories, untainted 
by the foul breath of prejudice, until it finds some more hos- 
pitable harbor to shelter it from the storms by which it is at 
present buffeted. Were I only to suffer death, after being 
adjudged guilty by your tribunal, I should bow in silence, and 
meet the fate that awaits me without a murmur , but the sen- 
tence of the law, which delivers my body to the executioner, 
will, through the ministry of that law, labor, in its own vindica- 
tion, to consign my character to obloquy — for there must be 
guilt somewhere; whether in the sentence of the court or in the 
catastrophe, posterity must determine. 

My lord, it may be a part of the system of angry justice to 
bow a man's mind by humiliation to the purposed ignominy of 
the scaffold; but worse to me than the purposed shame, or the 
scaffold's terrors, would be the shame of such foul and un- 
founded imputations as have been laid against me in this court. 
You, my lord, are a judge ; I am the supposed culprit — I am a 
man ; you are a man also. By a revolution of power, we might 
change places, though we never could change characters. If I 
stand at the bar of this court, and dare not vindicate my charac- 
ter, what a farce is your justice ! If I stand at this bar, and 
dare not vindicate my character, how dare you calumniate it? 
Does the sentence of death, which your unhallowed policy 
inflicts upon my body, also condemn my tongue to silence, and 
my reputation to reproach ? Your executioner may abridge the 
period of my existence; but, while I exist, I shall not forbear 
to vindicate my character and motives from your aspersions; 



116 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

and, as a man to whom fame is dearer than life, I will make 
the last use of that life in doing justice to that reputation 
which is to live after me, and which is the only legacy I can 
leave to those I honor and love, and for whom I am proud to 
perish. As men, we must appear on the great day at one 
common tribunal ; and it will then remain for the Searcher of 
all hearts to show a collective universe who was engaged in the 
most virtuous actions, or actuated by the purest motives— my 
country^s oppressors, or myself. 

I am charged with being an emissary of France. An emissary 
of France ! And for what end ? It is alleged that I wished to 
sell the independence of my country ! And for what end ? 
Was this the object of my ambition ? And is this the mode 
by which a tribunal of justice reconciles contradictions? No; 
I am no emissary. My ambition was to hold a place among 
the deliverers of my country- — not in power, not in profit, but 
in the glory of the achievement. Sell my country's independ- 
ence to France! and for what? A change of masters? No; 
but for ambition. 

Oh ! my country ! had it been personal ambition that influ- 
enced me — had it been the soul of my actions, could I not, by 
my education and fortune, by the rank and consideration of my 
family, have placed myself amongst the proudest of your op- 
pressors ? My country was my idol. To it I sacrificed every 
selfish, every endearing sentiment ; and for it I now offer up my 
life. No, my lord, I acted as an Irishman, determined on 
delivering my country from the yoke of a foreign and unrelent- 
ing tyranny, and from the more galling yoke of a domestic 
faction, its joint partner and perpetrator in parricide, whose 
rewards are the ignominy of existing with an exterior of 
splendor, and a consciousness of depravity. 

It was the wish of my heart to extricate my country from this 
doubly riveted despotism. I wished to place her independence 
beyond the reach of any power on earth. I wished to exalt her 
to that proud station of the world which Providence has des- 
tined her to fill. 

I have been charged with so great importance, in the efforts 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 117 

to emancipate my country, as to be considered the keystone of 
the combination of Irishmen, or, as your lordship expressed it, 
^' the life and blood of the conspiracy.'^ You do me honor 
overmuch — you have given to the subaltern all the credit of a 
superior. There are men engaged in this conspiracy who are 
not only superior to me, but even to your own conceptions of 
yourself, my lord — men before the splendor of whose genius 
and virtues I should bow with respectful deference, and w^ho 
would think themselves dishonored to be called your friends — 
who would not disgrace themselves by shaking your blood- 
stained hand. — [Here he was interrupted by the judge.] 

What ! my lord ! shall you tell me on the passage to that 
scaflfold which that tyranny, of which you are only the inter- 
mediary executioner, has erected for my murder, that I am 
accountable for all the blood that has been and will be shed in 
this struggle of the oppressed against the oppressor — shall you 
tell me this, and must I be so very a slave as not to repel it? — 
I, who fear not to approach the omnipotent Judge to answer for 
the conduct of my whole life — am I to be appalled and falsified 
by a mere remnant of mortality here ? — by you, too, who, if it 
were possible to collect all the innocent blood that you have 
shed, in your unhallowed ministry, in one great reservoir, your 
lordship might swim in it ! — [Here the judge again interfered.] 

Let no man dare, when I am dead, to charge me with dis- 
honor : let no man attaint my memory by believing that I could 
engage in any cause but that of my country's liberty and inde- 
pendence; or that I could become the pliant minion of power 
in the oppression or the miseries of my countrymen. The 
proclamation of the provisional government speaks my views; 
from which no inference can be tortured to countenance bar- 
barity or debasement at home, or subjection, or humiliation, 
or treachery from abroad. I would not have submitted to a 
foreign invader, for the same reason that I would resist the 
^domestic oppressor. In the dignity of freedom I would have 
fought upon the threshold of my country, and its enemy should 
enter only by passing over my lifeless corpse. And am I, who 
lived but for my country, who have subjected myself to the 



118 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

dangers of the jealous and watchful oppressor, and now to the 
bondage of the grave, only to give my countrymen their rights, 
and my country her independence, to be loaded with calumny, 
and not suffered to resent and repel it ? No ; God forbid ! 

My lords, you seem impatient for the sacrifice. The blood 
for which you thirst is not congealed by the artificial terrors 
which surround your victim : it circulates warmly and unruffled 
through the channels which God created for noble purposes, 
but which you are bent to destroy for purposes so grievous that 
they cry to Heaven. 

Be yet patient. I have but a few words more to say. I am 
going to my cold and silent grave ; my lamp of life is nearly 
extinguished ; my race is run ; the grave opens to receive me ; 
and I sink into its bosom. I have but one request to ask at my 
departure from this world : it is the charity of its silence. Let 
no man write my epitaph ; for, as no man who knows my motives 
dares now vindicate them, let not prejudice nor ignorance asperse 
them. Let them and me repose in obscurity, and my tomb 
remain uninscribed, until other times and other men can do 
justice to my character. When my country takes her place 
among the nations of the earth, then, and not till then, let my 
epitaph be written. I have done. 



ON BEING FOUND GUILTY OF TEE AS ON— Meagher. 

A JURY of my countrymen have found me guilty of the 
crimes for which I stood indicted. For this I entertain not the 
slightest feeling of resentment toward them. Influenced, as 
they must have been, by the charge of the lord chief justice, 
they could have found no other verdict. What of that charge '/ 
Any strong observations on it I feel sincerely would ill befit the 
solemnity of this scene ; but I would earnestly beseech of you, 
my lord, — you, who preside on that bench, — when the passions 
and prejudices of this hour have passed away, to appeal to your 
own conscience, and to ask of it, was your charge as it ought to 



AM ERICA X POPULAR SPEAKER. 119 

haye been, impartial and indifferent between the subject and 
the crown ? 

My lords, you may deem this language unbecoming in me, 
and perhaps it may seal my fate. But I am here to speak the 
truth, whatever it may cost; I am here to regret nothing I have 
ever done — to retract nothing I have ever said. I am here to 
crave, with no lying lip, the life I consecrate to the liberty of 
my country. Far from it, even here — here, where the thief, 
the libertine, the murderer, have left their footprints in the 
dust; here, on this spot, where the shadows of death surround 
me, and from which I see my early grave in an unanointed soil 
opened to receive me — even here, encircled by these terrors, the 
hope which has beckoned me to the perilous sea upon which I 
have been wrecked still consoles, animates, enraptures me. 

No, I do not despair of my poor country — her peace, her 
liberty, her glory. For that country, I can do no more than 
bid her hope. To lift this island up. — to make her a benefactor 
to humanity, instead of being the meanest beggar in the world, 
to restore to her her native powers and her ancient constitution, 
— this has been my ambition, and this ambition has been my 
crime. Judged by the law of England, I know this crime en- 
tails the penalty of death ; but the history of Ireland explains 
this crime, and justifies it. Judged by that history, I am no 
criminal, I deserve no punishment. Judged by that history, 
the treason of which I stand convicted loses all its guilt, is 
sanctioned as a duty, will be ennobled as a sacrifice. With 
these sentiments, my lord, I await the sentence of the court. 

Having done what I felt to be my duty — having spoken what 
I felt to be the truth, as I have done on every other occasion of 
my short career, — I now bid farewell to the country of my birth, 
my passion, and my death ; the country whose misfortunes have 
invoked my sympathies ', whose factions I have sought to still ; 
whose intellect I have prompted to a lofty aim ] whose freedom 
has been my fatal dream. I offer to that country, as a proof of 
the love I bear her, and the sincerity with which I thought and 
spoke and struggled for her freedom, the life of a 3'oung heart, 
and with that life all the hopes, the honors, the endearments, 



120 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

of a liappy and lionored home. Pronounce, then, my lords, the 
sentence which the laws direct, and I will be prepared to hear 
it. I trust I shall be prepared to meet its execution. I hope 
to be able, with a pure heart and perfect composure, to appear 
before a higher tribunal — a tribunal where a Judge of infinite 
goodness as well as of justice will preside, c^nd where, my lords 
many, many of the judgments of this world will be reversed. 



SPARTACUS TO THE GLADIATORS AT CAPUA,~-Bird. 

Ye call me chief; and ye do well to call him chief who for 
twelve long years has met upon the arena every shape of man 
or beast the broad empire of Rome could furnish, and who never 
yet lowered his arm. If there be one among you who can say 
that ever, in public fight or private brawl, my actions did belie 
my tongue, let him stand forth and say it. If there be three 
in all your company dare face me on the- bloody sands, let them 
come on. And yet I was not always thus — a hired butcher, a 
savage chief of still more savage men. My ancestors came from 
old Sparta, and settled among the vine-clad rocks and citron 
groves of Syrasella. My early life ran quiet as the brooks by 
which I sported; and when^ at noon, I gathered the sheep be- 
neath the shade, and played upon the shepherd's flute, there was 
a friend, the son of a neighbor, to join me in the pastime. We 
led our flocks to the same pasture, and partook together our rustic 
meal. One evening, after the sheep were folded, and we were all 
seated beneath the myrtle which shaded our cottage, my grand- 
sire, an old man, was telling of Marathon and Leuctra; and 
how, in ancient times, a little band of Spartans, in a defile of the 
mountains, had withstood a whole army. I did not then know 
what war was ; but my cheeks burned, I know not why, and I 
clasped the knees of that venerable man, until my mother, part- 
ing the hair from off my forehead, kissed my throbbing temples, 
and bade me go to rest, and think no more of those old tales and 
savage wars. That very nighfc the Romans landed on our coast. 
I saw the breast that had nourished me trampled by the hoof 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 121 

of the war-liorse — the bleeding body of my father flung amidst 
the blazing rafters of our dwelling I To-day I killed a man in 
the arena; and, when I broke his helmet-clasps, behold he was 
my friend. He knew me, smiled faintly, gasped, and died ; — 
the same sweet smile upon his lips that I had marked, when, in 
adventurous boyhood, we scaled the lofty cliff to pluck the first 
ripe grapes, and bear them home in childish triumph ! I told 
the praetor that the dead man had been my friend, generous and 
brave; and 1 begged that I might bear away the body, to burn 
it on a funeral pile, and mourn over its ashes. Ay ! upon my 
knees, amid the dust and blood of the arena, I begged that poor 
boon, while all the assembled maids and matrons, and the holy 
virgins they call Yestals, and the rabble, shouted in derision, 
deeming it rare sport, forsooth, to see Rome's fiercest gladiator 
turn pale and tremble at sight of that piece of bleeding clay ! 
And the praetor drew back as I were pollution, and sternly said, 
"Let the carrion rot; there are no noblemen but Romans.'' 
And so, fellow-gladiators, must you, and so must I, die like dogs. 
Rome ! Rome ! thou hast been a tender nurse to me. Ay ! 
thou hast given to that poor, gentle, timid shepherd lad, who 
never knew a harsher tone than a flute-note, muscles of iron, and 
a heart of flint; taught him to drive the sword through plaited 
mail and links of rugged brass, and warm it in the marrow of 
his foe ; — to gaze into the glaring eyeballs of the fierce Numidian 
lion, even as a boy upon a laughing girl ! And he shall pay thee 
back, until the yellow Tiber is red as frothing wine, and in its 
deepest ooze thy life-blood lies curdled. 

Ye stand here now like giants, as ye are. The strength of 
brass is in your toughened sinews, but to-morrow some Roman 
Adonis, breathing sweet perfume from his curly locks, shall with 
his lily fingers pat your red brawn, and bet his sesterces upon 
your blood. Hark ! hear ye yon lion roaring in his den ? 'Tis 
three days since he has tasted flesh; but to-morrow he shall 
break his fast upon yours — and a dainty meal for him ye shall 
be ! If ye are beasts, then stand here like fat oxen, waiting for 
the butcher's knife ! If ye are men, follow me ! Strike down 
yon guard, gain the mountain passes, and then do bloody work, 
11 



122 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

as did your sires at old Tliermopylae ! Is Sparta dead ? Is the 
old Grrecian spirit frozen in your veins, tliat you do crouch and 
cower like a belabored hound beneath his master's lash ? 
comrades I warriors ! Thracians ! if we must fight, let us fight 
for ourselves ! If we must slaughter, let us slaughter our op- 
pressors I If we must die, let it be under the clear sky, by the 
bright waters^ in noble, honorable battle ! 



BIENZrS LAST APPEAL TO THE ROMANS.— ^\ji.w^^. 

Ye come, then, once again ! Come ye as slaves or freemen ? 
A handful of armed men are in your walls : will ye, who chased 
from your gates the haughtiest knights — the most practised 
battlemen of Rome, succumb now to one hundred and fifty 
hirelings and strangers ? — Will ye arm for your Tribune ? — 
you are silent ! — be it so ! Will you arm for your own liber- 
ties, — your own Rome ?— silent still ! By the saints that reign 
on the throne of the heathen gods, are ye thus fallen from your 
birthright ? Have you no arms for your own defence ? 

Romans, hear me ! Have I wronged you ? — if so, by your 
hands let me die : and then, with knives yet reeking with my 
blood, go forward against the robber who is but the herald of 
your slavery 3 and I die honored, grateful, and avenged. 

You weep ! Ay, and I could weep, too — that I should live 
to speak of liberty in vain to Romans. Weep ! — is this an hour 
for tears ? Weep now, and your tears shall ripen harvests of 
crime, and license, and despotism to come ! 

Romans, arm ] follow me, at once, to the Place of the Co- 
lonna : expel this ruffian Minorbino, expel your enemy, (no 
matter what afterward you do to me) : or I abandon you to 
your fate. 

What ! and is it ye who forsake me, for whose cause alone 
man dares to hurl against me the thunders of his God, in this 
act of excommunication ? Is it not for you that I am declared 
heretic and rebel ? What are my imputed crimes ? — that I have 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 123 

made Kome, and asserted Italy to be free ! — that I have sub- 
dued the proud magnates, who were the scourge both of pope 
and people. 

And you, — you upbraid me with what I have dared and done 
for you ! Men, with you I would have fought, for you I would 
have perished. You forsake yourselves in forsaking me; and, 
since I no longer rule over brave men, I resign my power to the 
tyrants you prefer. 

Seven months I have ruled over you, prosperous in com- 
merce, — stainless in justice, — victorious in the field : I have 
shown you what Rome could be ; and since I abdicate the gov- 
ernment ye gave me, — when I am gone, strike for your own 
freedom I It matters nothing who is the chief of a brave and 
great people. Prove that Rome hath many a Rienzi, but of 
brighter fortunes. 

Heed me : I ride with these faithful few through the quarter 
of the Colonna, before the fortress of your foe. Three times 
before that fortress shall my trumpet sound ] if at the third 
blast ye come not, armed as befits you, — I say not ail, but three, 
but two, but one hundred of ye, — I break up my wand of office, 
and the world shall say one hundred and fifty robbers quelled 
the soul of Rome, and crusbed her magistrate and her laws ! 



LAST MOMENTS OF COPERNICUS.— ^y^^^t, 

Copernicus, after harboring in his bosom for long, long years 
that pernicious heresy, — the solar system, — died on the day of 
the appearance of his book from the press. The closing scene 
of his life, with a little help from the imagination, would furnish 
a noble subject for an artist. For thirty-five years he has re- 
volved and matured in his mind his system of the heavens. A 
natural mildness of disposition, bordering on timidity, a reluc- 
tance to encounter controversy, and a dread of persecution, have 
led him to withhold his work from the press, and to make known 
his system but to a few confidential friends and disciples. 



124 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

At lengtli he draws near his end ; he is seventy-three years 
of age, and he yields his work on the " revolutions of the hea- 
venly orbs'^ to his friends for publication. The day at last has 
come on which it is to be ushered into the world. It is the 24th 
of May 1543. On that day, — the eflfect, no doubt, of the intense 
excitement of his mind operating upon an exhausted frame, — 
an effusion of blood brings him to the gates of the grave. His 
last hour is come ; he lies stretched upon the couch from which 
he will never rise, in his apartment at the Canonry at Frauen- 
berg, in East Prussia. The beams of the setting sun glance 
through the gothic windows of his chamber; near his bedside 
is the armillary sphere, which he has contrived to represent his 
theory of the heavens; his picture painted by himself, the 
amusement of his earlier years, hangs before him ; beneath it 
his astrolabe and other imperfect astronomical instruments ; and 
around him are gathered his sorrowing disciples. The door of 
the apartment opens ; the eye of the departing sage is turned 
to see who enters ; it is a friend who brings the first printed copy 
of his immortal treatise. He knows that in that book he con- 
tradicts all that had ever been distinctly taught by former phi- 
losophers ; he knows that he has rebelled against the sway of 
Ptolemy, which the scientific world had acknowledged for a 
thousand years ; he knows that the popular mind will be shocked 
by his innovations ; he knows that the attempt will be made to 
press even religion into the service against him ; but he knows 
that his book is true. 

He is dying, but he leaves a glorious truth, as his dying be- 
quest, to the world. He bids the friend who has brought it 
place himself between the window and his bedside, that the 
sun's rays may fall upon the precious volume, and he may be- 
hold it once before his eye grows dim. He looks upon it, takes 
it in his hands, presses it to his breast, and expires. But no, he 
is not wholly gone. A smile lights up his dying countenance; 
a beam of returning intelligence kindles in his eye ; his lips 
move ; and the friend who leans over him can hear him faintly 
murmur the beautiful sentiments which the Christian lyrist of a 
later age has so finely expressed in verse : — 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 125 

* Ye golden lamps of heaven, farewell, with all your feeble light ! 
Farewell, thou ever-changing moon, pale empress of the night ! 
And thou, refulgent orb of day, in brighter flames arrayed. 
My soul, which springs beyond thy sphere, no more demands thy aid. 
Ye stars are but the shining dust of my divine abode, 
The pavement of those heavenly courts, where I shall reign with God." 

So died the great Columbus of the heavens. 



THE CONGRESS OF 1776.— \Yirt. 

What was the state of things under which the Congress of 
1776 assembled, when Adams and JeiFerson again met? It* 
was, as yoii know, in this Congress, that the question of Ameri- 
can Independence came, for the first time, to be discussed; and 
never, certainly, has a more momentous question been discussed, 
in any age or in any country, for it was fraught, not only with 
the destinies of this wide-extended continent, but, as the event 
has shown, and is still showing, with the destinies of man all 
over the world. 

How fearful that question then was, no one can tell but those 
who, forgetting all that has since past, can transport themselves 
back to the time, and plant their feet on the ground which 
those patriots then occupied. " Shadows, clouds, and darkness'^ 
then covered all the future, and the present was full only of 
danger and terror. A. more unequal contest never was pro- 
posed. It was, indeed, as it was then said to be, the shepherd 
boy of Israel going forth to battle against the giant of Gath ; 
and there were yet among us, enough to tremble when they 
heard that giant say, '^ Come to me, and I will give thy flesh 
to the fowls of the air, and the beasts of the field.'' But there 
were those who never trembled — who knew that there was a 
God in Israel, and who were willing to commit their cause '' to 
His even-handed justice,'' and His almighty power. That their 
great trust was in Him, is manifest from the remarks that were 
continually breaking from the lips of the patriots. Thus, the 
11* 



126 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

patriot Hawley, when pressed upon tlie inequality of the contest, 
could only -answer, " We must put to sea — Providence will 
bring us into port;^^ and Patrick Henry, when urged upon the 
same topic, exclaimed, "True, true; but there is a God above, 
who rules and overrules the destinies of nations.'^ 



EMPTINESS OF EARTHLY GLOEY.—Wayland. 

The crumbling tombstone and the gorgeous mausoleum, the 
sculptured marble and the venerable cathedral, all bear witness 
to the instinctive desire within us to be remembered by coming 
generations. But how short-lived is the immortality which the 
works of our hands can confer ! The noblest monuments of art 
that the world has ever seen are covered with the soil of twenty 
centuries. The works of the age of Pericles lie at the foot of 
the Acropolis in indiscriminate ruin. The ploughshare turns up 
the marble which the hand of Phidias had chiselled into beauty, 
and the Mussulman has folded his flock beneath the falling 
columns of the temple of Minerva. 

But even the works of our hands too frequently survive the 
memory of those who have created them. And were it other- 
wise, could we thus carry down to distant ages the recollection 
of our existence, it were surely childish to waste the energies 
of an immortal spirit in the effort to make it known to other 
times, that a being whose name was written with certain letters 
of the alphabet once lived, and flourished, and died. Neither 
sculptured marble, nor stately column, can reveal to other ages 
the lineaments of the spirit; and these alone can embalm our 
memory in the hearts of a grateful posterity. 

As the stranger stands beneath the dome of St. Paul's, or 
treads, with religious awe, the silent aisles of Westminster 
Abbey, the sentiment which is breathed from every object 
around him is, the utter emptiness of sublunary glory. The 
tine arts, obedient to private afl'ection or public gratitude, have 
here embodied, in every form, the finest conceptions of which 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 127 

their age was capable. Each one of these monuments has been 
watered by the tears of the widow, the orphan, or the patriot. 
But generations have passed away, and mourners and mourned 
have sunk together into forgetfulness. 

The aged crone, or the smooth-tongued beadle, as now he 
hurries you through aisles and chapel, utters, with measured 
cadence and unmeaning tone, for the thousandth time, the name 
and lineage of the once-honored dead ; and then gladly dismisses 
you, to repeat again his well-conned lesson to another group of 
idle passers-by. Such, in its most august form, is all the im- 
mortality that matter can confer. It is by what we ourselcts 
have done^ and not by what others have done for us, that we shall 
be remembered by after ages. It is by thought that has aroused 
my intellect from its slumbers, which has '' given lustre to 
virtue, and dignity to truth/^ or by those examples which have 
inflamed my soul with the love of goodness, and not by means 
of sculptured marble, that I hold communion with Shakspeare 
and Milton, with Johnson and Burke, with Howard and Wilber- 
force. 



ON PARLIAMENTARY INNOVATIONS,— Beajjyoy, 

To calumniate innovation, and to decry it, is preposterous. 
Have there never been any innovations on the Constitution ? 
Can it be forgotten, for one moment, that all the advantages, 
civil and political, which we enjoy at this hour, are in reality the 
immediate and fortunate effects of innovation ? It is by innovations 
that the English Constitution has grown and flourished. It is by 
innovations that the House of Commons has risen to importance. 
It was at different eras that the counties and towns were ejupow- 
ered to elect representatives. Even the office of Speaker was 
an innovation ; for it was not heard of till the time of Richard 
the Second. What was more, the freedom of speech, now so 
highly valued, was an innovation ; for there were times when no 
member dared to avow his sentiments, and when his head must 
have answered for the boldness of his tongue. To argue against 
innovations, is to argue against improvements of every kind. 



128 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

When the followers of Wickliffe maintained the cause of hu- 
manity and reason against absurdity and superstition, " No inno- 
vation" was the cry; and the fires of persecution blazed over the 
kingdom. " Let there be no innovation/^ is ever the maxim of 
the ignorant, the interested, and the worthless. It is the favor- 
ite tenet of the servile advocate of tyranny. It is the motto 
which Bigotry has inscribed on her banners. It is the barrier 
that opposes every improvement, political, civil, and religious. 
To reprobate all innovations on the Constitution, is to suppose 
that it is perfect. But perfection was not its attribute either in 
the Saxon or Norman times. It is not its attribute at the pre- 
sent moment. Alterations are perpetually necessary in every 
Constitution ; for the government should be accommodated to 
the times, to the circumstances, to the wants of a people, which 
are ever changing. 



MARIE ANTOINETTE.— BvRKE, 

It is now sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the Queen 
of France, then the Dauphiness, at Versailles ; and surely never 
lio:hted on this orb, which she hardlv seemed to touch, a more 
delightful vision. I saw her just above the horizon, decorating 
and cheering the elevated sphere she just began to move in, — 
glittering like the morning star, full of life, and splendor, and 
joy. ! what a revolution ! and what a heart must I have, to 
contemplate without emotion that elevation and that fall ! Little 
did I dream, when she added titles of veneration to those of 
enthusiastic, distant, respectful love, that she should ever be 
obliged to carry the sharp antidote against disgrace concealed in 
that bosom ; little did I dream that I should have lived to see 
such disasters fallen upon her, in a nation of gallant men, in a 
nation of men of honor, and of cavaliers ! I thought ten thou- 
sand swords must have leaped from their scabbards, to avenge 
even a look that threatened her with insult. 

But the age of chivalry is gone ; that of sophisters, econo- 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 129 

mists, and calculators has succeeded ] and the glory of Europe 
is extinguished for ever. Never, never more, shall we behold 
that generous loyalty to rank and sex, that proud submission, 
that dignified obedience, that subordination of the heart, which 
kept alive, even in servitude itself, the spirit of an exalted free- 
dom I The unbought grace of life, the cheap defence of nations, 
the nurse of manly sentiment and heroic enterprise is gone ! It 
is gone, that sensibility of principle, that chastity of honor, 
which felt a stain like a wound, which inspired courage whilst 
it mitigated ferocity, which ennobled whatever it touched, and 
under which vice itself lost half its evil, by losing all its 
grossness. 



ADDRESS TO THE CHAMBER OF PEERS.— Trelat. 

I HAVE long felt that it was necessary — that it was inevitable 
—we should meet face to face : we do so now. Gentlemen 
Peers, our mutual enmity is not the birth of yesterday. In 
1814, in common with many, many others, I cursed the power 
which called you or your predecessors to help it in chaining 
down liberty. In 1815 I took up arms to oppose the return of 
your gracious master of that day. In 1830 I did my duty in 
promoting the successful issue of the event which then occurred ; 
and eight days after the Revolution, I again took up my musket, 
though but little in the habit of handling warlike instruments, 
and went to the post which General Lafayette had assigned us 
for the purpose of marching against you personally. Gentlemen 
Peers I It was in the presence of my friends and myself that 
one of your number was received ; and it is not impossible that 
we had some influence in occasioning the very limited success 
of his embassy. It was then he who appeared before i«s, implor- 
ing, beseeching, with tears in his eyes ; it is now our turn to 
appear before ^ou, — but we do so without imploring, or beseech- 
ing, or weeping, or bending the knee. We had utterly van- 
quished your Kings; and, they being gone, you had nothing 



130 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

left. As for you^ you have not vanquished the People; and 
whether you hold us as hostages for it or not, our personal 
position troubles us very, very little ; — rely upon that. 

Your prisons open to receive within their dungeons all who 
retain a free heart in their bosoms. He who first placed the 
tri-colored flag on the palace of your old Kings — they who drove 
Charles the Tenth from France — are handed over to you as 
victims, on account of your new King. Your sergeant has 
touched with his black wand the courageous deputy who first, 
among you all, opened his door to the Revolution. The whole 
thing is summed up in these facts : It is the Revolution strug- 
gling with the counter-revolution; the Past with the Present, 
with the Future ; selfishness with fraternity ; tyranny with 
liberty. Tyranny has on her side bayonets, prisons, and your 
embroidered collars, Gentlemen Peers. Liberty has God on her 
side, — the Power which enlightens the reason of man, and 
impels him forward in the great work of human advancement. 
It will be seen with whom victory will abide. This will be seen, 
— not to-morrow, not the day after to-morrow, nor the day after 
that, — it may not be seen by us at all; — what matters that? It 
is the human race which engages our thoughts, and not our- 
selves. Everything manifests that the hour of deliverance is 
not far distant. It will then be seen whether God will permit 
the lie to be given Him with impunity. 



THE PROGRESS OF DISCOVERY.— ^veuett. 

We are confirmed in the conclusion that the popular diffusion 
of knowledge is favorable to the growth of science, when we 
reflect that, vast as the domain of learning is, and extraordinary 
as is the progress which has been made in almost every branch, 
we may assume as certain, I will not say that we are in its 
infancy, but that the discoveries which have been already made, 
wonderful as they are, bear but a small proportion to those that 
will hereafter be effected ; and that in everything that belongs 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 131 

to the improvement of man, there is yet a field of investigation 
broad enough to satisfy the most eager thirst for knowledge, and 
diversified enough to suit every variety of taste, order of intellect, 
or degree of qualification. For the peaceful victories of the 
mind, that unknown and unconquered world, for which Alex- 
ander wept, is for ever near at hand; hidden indeed, as yet, 
behind the veil with which nature shrouds her undiscovered 
mysteries, but stretching all along the confines of the domain of 
knowledge, sometimes nearest when least suspected. The foot 
has not yet pressed, nor the eye beheld it; but the mind, in its 
deepest musings, in its wildest excursions, will sometimes catch 
a glimpse of the hidden realm — a gleam of light from the 
Hesperian island — a fresh and fragrant breeze from off the undis- 
covered land — 

*' Sabsean odors from the spicy shore," 

which happier voyagers^ in after times, shall approach, explore, 
and inhabit. Who has not felt, when, with his very soul con- 
centrated in his eyes, while the world around him is wrapped in 
sleep, he gazes into the holy depths of the midnight heavens, or 
wanders in contemplation .among the worlds and systems that 
sweep through the immensity of space — who has not felt as if 
their mystery must yet more fully yield to the ardent, unwearied, 
imploring research of patient science ? Who does not, in those 
choice and blessed moments, in which the world and its interests 
are forgotten, and the spirit retires into the inmost sanctuary 
of its own meditations, and there, unconscious of everything but 
itself and the infinite Perfection, of which it is the earthly type, 
and kindling the flame of thought on the altar of prayer — who 
does not feel, in moments like these, as if it must at last be given 
to man, to fathom the great secret of his own being — to solve 
the mighty problem 

" Of providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate" ? 

When I think in what slight elements the great discoveries 
that have changed the condition of the world have oftentimes 
originated ; on the entire revolution in political and social affairs 



132 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

which has resulted from the use of the magnetic needle ; on the 
world of wonders, teeming with the most important scientific 
discoveries, which has been opened by the telescope ; on the all- 
controlling influence of so simple an invention as that of movable 
metallic types ; on the effects of the invention of gunpowder, no 
doubt the casual result of some idle experiment in alchemy ; on 
the consequences that have resulted and are likely to result, from 
the application of the vapor of boiling water to the manufactur- 
ing arts, to navigation, and transportation by land; on the 
results of a single sublime conception in the mind of Newton, 
on which he erected, as on a foundation, the glorious temple of 
the system of the heavens ; in fine, when I consider how, from 
the great master-principle of the philosophy of Bacon — the 
induction of Truth from the observation of Fact — has flowed, 
as from a living fountain, the fresh and still swelling stream of 
modern science, I am almost oppressed with the idea of the pro- 
bable connection of the truths already known, with great prin- 
ciples which remain undiscovered, — of the proximity in which 
we may unconsciously stand, to the most astonishing, though yet 
unrevealed, mysteries of the material and intellectual world. 



SCIENCE AND RELIGION— Ritcrcock. 

I AM far from maintaining that science is a sufficient guide 
in religion. On the other hand, if left to itself, as I fully admit, 

*^ It leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind." 

Nor do I maintain that scientific truth, even when properly 
appreciated, will compare at all, in its influence upon the human 
mind, with those peculiar and higher truths disclosed by Reve- 
lation. All I contend for is, that scientific truth, illustrating as 
it does the divine character, plans, and government, ought to fan 
and feed the flame of true piety in the hearts of its cultivators. 
He, therefore, who knows the most of science, ought most 
powerfully to feel this religious influence. He is not confined, 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 133 

like the great mass of men, to the outer court of Nature's mag- 
nificent temple ; but he is admitted to the interior, and allowed 
to trace its long halls, aisles, and galleries, and gaze upon its 
lofty domes and arches ; nay, as a priest he enters th.^ penetralia , 
the holy of holies, where sacred fire is always burning upon the 
altars ; where hovers the glorious Schekinah ; and where, from 
a full orchestra, the anthem of praise is ever ascending. Petrified, 
indeed, must be his heart, if it catches none of the inspiration 
of such a spot. He ought to go forth from it, among his fellow- 
men, with radiant glory on his face, like Moses from the holy 
mount. He who sees most of God in His works ought to show 
the stamp of Divinity upon his character, and lead an eminently 
holy life. 

Yet it is only a few gifted and adventurous minds that are 
able, from some advanced mountain-top, to catch a glimpse of 
the entire stream of truth, formed by the harmonious union of 
ail principles, and flowing on majestically into the boundless 
ocean of all knowledge, the Infinite mind. But when the 
Christian philosopher shall be permitted to resume the study of 
science in a future world, with powers of investigation enlarged 
and clarified, and all obstacles removed, he will be able to trace 
onward the various ramifications of truth, till they unite into 
higher and higher principles, and become one in that centre of 
centres, the Divine Mind. That is the Ocean from which all 
truth originally sprang, and to which it ultimately returns. To 
trace out the shores of that shoreless Sea, to measure its mea- 
sureless extent, and to fathom its unfathomable depths, will be 
the noble and the joyous work of eternal ages. 



PERORATION AGAINST WARREN HASTINGS.— B\jrke. 

My Lords, at this awful close, in the name of the Commons, 
and surrounded by them, I attest the retiring, I attest the ad- 
vancing generations, between which, as a link in the great chain 
of eternal order, we stand. We call this nation, we call the 
world to witness, that the Commons have shrunk from no labor; 
12 



134 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

that we have been guilty of no prevarication ] that we have 
made no compromise with crime ; that we have not feared any 
odium whatsoever, in the long warfare which we have carried 
on with the crimes, with the vices, with the exorbitant wealth, 
with the enormous and overpowering influence of Eastern cor- 
ruption. 

My Lords, it has pleased Providence to place us in such a 
state that we appear every moment to be upon the verge of some 
great mutations. There is one thing, and one thing only, which 
defies all mutation : that which existed before the world, and 
will survive the fabric of the world itself, — I mean justice ; that 
justice which, emanating from the Divinity, has a place in the 
breast of every one of us, given us for our guide with regard to 
ourselves and with regard to others, and which will stand, after 
this globe is burned to ashes, our advocate or our accuser, before 
the great Judge, when He comes to call upon us for the tenor of 
a well-spent life. 

My Lords, the Commons will share in every fate with your 
Lordships ; there is nothing sinister which can happen to you, 
in whic-li we shall not all be involved ; and, if it should so hap- 
pen that we shall be subjected to some of those frightful changes 
which we have seen, — if it should happen that your Lordships, 
stripped of all the decorous distinctions of human society, should, 
by hands at once base and cruel, be led to those scaffolds and 
machines of murder upon which great kings and glorious queens 
have shed their blood, amidst the prelates, amidst the nobles, 
amidst the magistrates, who supported their thrones, — may you 
in those moments feel that consolation which I am persuaded 
they felt in the critical moments of their dreadful agony ! 

My Lords, if you must fall, may you so fall ! but if you stand, — 
and stand I trust you will, — together with the fortune of this an- 
cient monarchy, together with the ancient laws and liberties of 
this great and illustrious kingdom, may you stand as unimpeached 
in honor as in power; may you stand, not as a substitute for 
virtue, but as an ornament of virtue, as a security for ^artue; 
may you stand loDg, and long stand the terror of tyrants; may 
you stand the refuge of afflicted nations ; may you stand a sacred 
temple, for the perpetual residence of an inviolable justice! 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 135 

TUETOTALISM.—^OTT, 

I AM aware that " teetotalism/^ as it is called, is smiled at by 
some as a weakness, ridiculed by others as a folly, and by others 
censured as a crime ; and I am also aware that there is nothing 
imposing or exclusive in the use of water, that common beverage 
furnished by God himself in such abundance for the convenience 
and comfort of man ; and that he who uses no other beverage, 
must remain a stranger to that transient and fitful joy, that 
alternates with a corresponding sorrow in the bosoms of those 
who indulge in the more fashionable use of intoxicating liquors. 
Still, in the view of that withered intellect, those blighted hopes, 
those unnatural crimes, and that undying misery, that the use 
,of these liquors everywhere occasions, I put it to the candor of 
every ingenuous man who hears me, even among those who still 
indulge in that use, whether we who have abjured it, have not, 
under the existing state of things, a very intelligible and weighty 
reason for our conduct ? 

Will not the thought, as you return to your homes to-night 
and sit down amid a virtuous and beloved family, but a family 
familiarized to the use of intoxicating liquors in some of those 
forms which fashion sanctions — will not the thought that those 
same liquors, to the temperate use of which you are accustoming 
your household, must be to them the occasion of so much peril ; 
perhaps of so much suffering; suffering in which, though they 
escape, so many other human beings must participate ; — will not 
the thought of this mar the pleasure to be derived from that 
cup which is to be hereafter, as it has heretofore been to multi- 
tudes who drank of it, the cup of death ? 

Will not the thought of those uncounted thousands who have 
lived and died accursed on this planet, in consequence of intoxi- 
cating liquors; and those other and yet other thousands who 
will hereafter so live and die upon it, as long as the use of such 
liquors shall continue to be tolerated; and will not the thought 
of this wanton, gratuitous, and unmeasured misery abate some- 
what the displeasure you have felt, and soften the severity of 
the censures in which you have indulged against those who have 



136 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

combined to banisli the use of those liquors as a beverage from 
the earth ? More than this, will it not induce you, after all, 
to co-operate with us in consummating so humane and benevo- 
lent an enterprise ? 



CHRISTIAN RESPONSIBILITY.— ^OTT. 

Christians, patriots^ men of humanity ! will you not come 
along with us to their rescue, who, misguided by the example 
and emboldened by the counsel of others, have ventured onward 
in a course which threatens to prove fatal alike to their health, 
their happiness, and their salvation ? 

Will you not, in place of casting additional impediments in 
the way of their return, contribute to remove those which 
already exist, and which, without such assistance, they will 
remain for ever alike unable to surmount or remove ? 

On your part the sacrifice will be small, on theirs the benefit 
conferred immense ; a sacrifice not indeed without requital ; for 
you shall share the joy of their rejoicing friends on earth, and 
their rejoicing friends in heaven, who, when celebrating their 
returns to Grod, shall say : ^' This, our son, our brother, our 
neighbor, was lost and is found, was dead and is alive again/' 

In view of the prevailing usages of society in which you live, 
and the obvious inroads drunkenness is making on that society ; 
in view of that frightful number of ministers at the altar and 
advocates at the bar, whom drunkenness, robbing the church 
and the world of their services, has demented and dishonored ; 
in view of those master spirits in the field and the Senate 
chamber, whom drunkenness has mastered; in view of those 
families made wretched, those youth corrupted, and those poor- 
houses, and prison-houses, and graveyards peopled — and peopled 
with beings made guilty and wretched by drunkenness; I put 
it to your conscience, Christians, whether at such a time and 
under such circumstances you would be at liberty, though sup- 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 137 

plied witli wine made from the grapes of Eshcol, to use it as a 
beverage ? 

In conclusion, I ask Christians whether you are not bound, by 
the very circumstances in which God has placed you, to refrain 
from the use of intoxicating liquors, of every name and nature, 
as a beverage, and whether you can, without sin, refuse to give 
your influence, your whole influence, to the cause of total 
abstinence ? 



WOMAN AND TEMPEEANCK—Ballotj. 

Above all others living, females have the deepest personal 
interest in the subject of temperance. On none has the curse 
that follows strong drink fallen so heavily, and to no hearts does 
the genius of emancipation bring brighter hopes. The appro- 
priate sphere of female life is comparatively a narrow and 
restricted one. The little sanctuary of home, which they seem 
made to adorn and bless, comprises the field from which they 
must reap the harvest of most of their earthly enjoyment. Most 
of their happiness, that this world has power to give and take 
away, must here have its source; and how awful must be their 
conditition, then, when that sanctuary is profaned by the drunk- 
ard's revels ! It is not the drunken husband, father, son, or 
brother, that feels all the keen torments of such a home. No ; 
it is the wife, the mother, the sister, and the daughter. The 
intemperate man drinks the cup, but the dregs at the bottom are 
left for the woman. He can go out into the world for com- 
panionship and comfort; she must find hers in dreariness and 
destitution at home. The excitement furnished by the business 
community, public scenes, amusements and pleasures, are open 
to him ; but solitude and tears are left for her at her blighted 
and lonely hearthstone. He can provide himself with food and 
raiment ; she and her little ones may be hungry and cold. The 
accommodating landlord furnishes him with a comfortable seat 
by a good fire, where he may while away his time with his bottle 
companions, and heed not the cold that searches every nook in 
12^ 



138 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

his own hovel, or the destitution that rests like an incubus upon 
the hearts of his wife and children. No, I repeat it, it is not 
upon man that the curse of intemperance comes down in its 
most deadly power — but upon tried, suffering, and patient 
woman I 



TEE LANDING OF THE MAYFLOWER.— Everett. 

Do you think, sir, as we repose beneath this splendid pavilion, 
adorned by the hand of taste, blooming with festive garlands, 
wreathed with the stars and stripes of this great Republic, re- 
sounding with strains of heart-stirring music, that, merely be- 
cause it stands upon the soil of Barnstable, we form any idea 
of the spot as it appeared to Captain Miles Standish, and his 
companions, on the 15th or 16th of November, 1620? Oh, no, 
sir. Let us go up for a moment, in imagination, to yonder hill, 
which overlooks the village and the bay, and suppose ourselves 
standing there on some bleak, ungenial morning, in the middle 
of November of that year. The coast is fringed with ice. 
Dreary forests, interspersed with sandy tracts, fill the back- 
ground. Nothing of humanity quickens on the spot, save a few 
roaming savages, who, ill-provided with what even they deem 
the necessaries of life, are digging with their fingers a scanty 
repast out of the frozen sands. No friendly lighthouses had as 
yet hung up their cressets upon your headlands ; no brave pilot- 
boat was hovering like a sea-bird on the tops of the waves, be- 
yond the Cape, to guide the shattered bark to its harbor; no 
charts and soundings made the secret pathways of the deep as 
plain as a gravelled road through a lawn ; no comfortable dwell- 
ings along the line of the shore, and where are now your well- 
inhabited streets, spoke a welcome to the pilgrim ; no steeple 
poured the music of Sabbath morn into the ear of the fugitive 
for conscience^ sake. Primeval wildness and native desolation 
brood over sea and land ; and from the 9th of November, when, 
after a most calamitous voyage, the Mayflower first came to an- 
chor in Provincetown harbor, to the end of December, the 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 139 

entire male portion of the company was occupied, for the greater 
part of every day, and often by night as well as by day, in ex- 
ploring the coast and seeking a place of rest, amidst perils from 
the sa^ages, from the unknown shore, and the elements, which 
it makes one's heart bleed to think upon. 

But this dreary waste, which we thus contemplate in imagin- 
ation, and which they traversed in sad reality, is a chosen 
land. It is a theatre upon which an all-glorious drama is to be 
enacted. On this frozen soil, — driven from the ivy-clad churches 
of their mother land,— escaped, at last, from loathsome prisons, 
— the meek fathers of a pure church will lay the spiritual base- 
ment of their temple. Here, on the everlasting rock of liberty, 
they will establish the foundation of a free state. Beneath its 
ungenial wintry sky, principles of social right, institutions of 
civil government, shall germinate, in which, what seemed the 
Utopian dreams of visionary sages, are to be more than realized. 

But let us contemplate, for a moment, the instruments selected 
by Providence, for this political and moral creation. However 
unpromising the field of action, the agents must correspond with 
the excellence of the work. The time is truly auspicious. Eng- 
land is well supplied with all the materials of a generous enter- 
prise. She is in the full affluence of her wealth of intellect 
and character. The age of Elizabeth has passed and garnered 
up its treasures. The age of the Commonwealth, silent and un- 
suspected, is ripening towards its harvest of great men. The 
Burleighs and Cecils have sounded the depths of statesmanship; 
the Drakes and Baleighs have run the whole round of chivalry 
and adventure ; the Cokes and Bacons are spreading the light 
of their master-minds through the entire universe of philosophy 
and law. Out of a generation of which men like these are the 
guides and lights, it cannot be difficult to select the leaders of 
any lofty undertaking; and, through their influence, to secure 
to it the protection of royalty. But, alas, for New England ! 
No, sir, happily for New England, ProvMence works not with 
"human instruments. Not many wise men after the flesh, not 
many mighty, not many noble, are called. The stars of human 
greatness, that glitter in a court, are not destined to rise on the 



140 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

lowering horizon of the despised colony. The feeble company 
of Pilgrims is not to be marshalled by gartered statesmen, or 
mitred prelates. Fleets will not be despatched to convoy the 
little band, nor armies to protect it. Had there been honors to 
be won, or pleasures to be enjoyed, or plunder to be grasped, 
hungry courtiers, mid-summer friends, godless adventurers would 
have eaten out the heart of the enterprise. Silken Bucking- 
hams and Somersets would have blasted it with their patronage. 
But, safe amidst their unenvied perils, strong in their inoffen- 
sive weakness, rich in their untempting poverty, the patient 
fugitives are permitted to pursue unmolested, the thorny paths 
of tribulation; and, landed at last on the unfriendly shore, the 
hosts of Grod, in the frozen mail of December, encamped around 
the dwellings of the just : — 

" Stern famine guards the solitary coast, 
And winter barricades the realms of frost." 



FROGEESS OF TOTAL AB STINUNCE.— MclLVAmE, 

It is too late to say that a general adoption of the great 
principle of total abstinence is too much to be hoped for. A 
few years ago, who would not have been considered almost de- 
ranged had he predicted what has already been accomplished in 
this cause ? Great things, wonderful things, have already been 
effected. The enemies of this reformation, whose pecuniary 
interests set them in opposition, are unable to deny this fact. It 
is felt from the distillery to the dram-shop. It is seen from 
Maine to the utmost South and West. Every traveller per- 
ceives it. Fvery vender knows it. The whole country wonders 
at the progress of this cause. It is rapidly and powerfully ad- 
vancing. One thing, and only one, can prevent its entire suc- 
cess. The frenzy of drunkenness cannot arrest its goings. The 
hundreds of thousands in the armies of intemperance cannot 
resist its march. But the temperate can. If backward to come 
up to the vital principle of this work, they tviU prevent its ac- 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 141 

complisliment. But the banner of triumph will wave in peace 
over all the land, hailed by thousands of grateful captives from 
the gripe of death, in spite of all the warring of the ^' mighty 
to drink wine/^ if those who abhor intemperance, and think 
they would be willing to make a great sacrifice to save their 
children or friends from its blasting curse, will only come up to 
the little effort of entire abstinence. This is the surest and 
shortest way to drain off the river of fire now flowing through 
the land. It is the moderate use of the temperate that keeps 
open the smoking fountains from which that tide is poured. 



INTERNATIONAL SYMPATHIES,— ^yAYLA^'J>. 

In many respects, the Nations of Christendom collectively 
are becoming somewhat analogous to our own Federal republic. 
Antiquated distinctions are breaking away, and local animosities 
are subsiding. The common people of different countries are 
knowing each other better, esteeming each other more, and 
attaching themselves to each other, by various manifestations of 
reciprocal good will. It is true, every nation has still its sepa- 
rate boundaries and its individual interests; but the freedom of 
commercial intercourse is allowing those interests to adjust 
themselves to each other, and thus rendering the causes of 
collision of vastly less frequent occurrence. Local questions 
are becoming of less, and general questions of greater import- 
ance. Thanks be to God, men have at last begun to understand 
the rights and feel for the wrongs of each other I Mountains 
interposed do not so much make enemies of nations. Let the 
trumpet of alarm be sounded, and its notes are now heard by 
every nation, whether of "Europe or America. Let a voice borne 
on the feeblest breeze tell that the rights of man are in danger, 
and it floats over valley and mountain, across continent and 
ocean, until it has vibrated on the ear of the remotest dweller 
in Christendom. Let the arm of Oppression be raised to crush 
the feeblest nation on earth, and there will be heard every- 
where, if not the shout of defiance, at least the deep-toned 



142 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

murmur of implacable displeasure. It is the cry of aggrieved, 
insulted, much-abused man. It is human nature waking in her 
might from the slumber of ages, shaking herself from the dust 
of antiquated institutions, girding herself for the combat, and 
going forth conquering and to conquer; and woe uato the man, 
woe unto the dynasty, woe, unto the party, and woe unto the 
policy, on whom shall fall the scathe of her blighting indig- 
nation 1 



THE FEUITS OF INTEMPERANCE.— UclLYAmE, 

It cannot be denied that our country is most horribly scourged 
by intemperance. In the strong language of Scripture, " it 
groaneth and travaileth in pain, to be delivered from the bond- 
age of this corruption. Our country is free; "with a great 
price obtained we this freedom.'^ We feel as if all the force 
of Europe could not get it from our embrace. Our shores 
would shake into the depth of the sea the invader who should 
presume to seek it. One solitary citizen led away into captivity, 
scourged, chained by a foreign enemy, would rouse the oldest 
nerve in the land to indignant complaint, and league the whole 
nation in loud demand for redress. And yet it cannot be de- 
nied that our country is enslaved. Yes, we are groaning under 
a most desolating bondage. The land is trodden down under its 
polluting foot. Our families are continually dishonored, ravaged, 
and bereaved ; thousands annually slain, and hundreds of thou- 
sands carried away into a loathsome slavery, to be ground to 
powder under its burdens, or broken upon the wheel of its 
tortures. 

What are the statistics of this traffic ? Ask the records of 
madhouses, and they will answer, that one-third of all their 
wretched inmates were sent there by Intemperance. Ask the 
keepers of our prisons, and they will testify that, with scarcely 
an exception, their horrible population is from the schools of 
Intemperance. Ask the history of the two hundred thousand 
paupers now burdening the hands of public charity, and you 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. ]43 

will find that two-thirds of them have been the victims, directly 
or indirectly, of Intemperance. Inquire at the gates of death, 
and you will learn that no less than thirty thousand souls are 
annually passed for the judgment-bar of God, driven there by 
Intemperance. How many slaves are at present among us ? 
We ask not of slaves to man, but to Intemperance, in compari- 
son with whose bondage the yoke of the tyrant is freedom. 
They are estimated at four hundred and eighty thousand ! And 
what does the nation pay for the honor and happiness of this 
whole system of ruin ? Five times as much, every year, as for 
the annual support of its whole system of government. These 
are truths, so often published, so widely sanctioned, so generally 
received, and so little doubted, that we need not detail the par- 
ticulars by which they are made out. What, then, is the whole 
amount of guilt and of woe which they exhibit? Ask Him 
" unto whom all hearts are open, all desires known, and from 
whom no secrets are hid.^' Ask Eternity ! 



PAUL'S DEFENCE BEFORE KING AGEIPPA.—Bible, 

I THINK myself happy, King Agrippa, because I shall answer 
for myself this day before thee, touching all the things whereof 
I am accused of the Jews; especially because I know thee to 
be expert in all customs and questions which are among the 
Jewsj wherefore I beseech thee to hear me patiently. My 
manner of life from my youth, which was at the first among 
mine own nation at Jerusalem, know all the Jews, which knew 
me from the beginning (if they would testify), that after the 
most straitest sect of our religion, I lived a Pharisee. And now 
I stand and am judged, for the hope of the promise made of 
God unto our fathers ; unto which promise our twelve tribes, 
instantly serving God day and night, hope to come. For which 
hope's sake, King Agrippa, I am accused of the Jews. Why 
should it be thought a thing incredible with you, that God 
should raise the dead ? I verily thought with myself, that I 



144 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

ought to do many things contrary to the name of Jesus of 
Nazareth ; which thing I also did in Jerusalem 3 and many of 
the saints did I shut up in prison, having received authority 
from the chief priests; and, when they were put to death, I 
gave my voice against them. And I punished them oft in every 
synagogue, and compelled them to blaspheme ; and, being ex- 
ceedingly mad against them, I persecuted them even unto 
strange cities. Whereupon, as I went to Damascus with autho- 
rity and commission from the chief priests, at mid-day, king, 
I saw in the way a light from heaven, above the brightness of 
the sun, shining round about me, and them which journeyed 
with me. And when we were all fallen to the earth, I heard a 
voice speaking unto me, and saying in the Hebrew tongue, 
^' Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me? It is hard for thee to 
kick against the pricks. ^^ And I said, ^' Who art thou. Lord ?" 
And he said, " I am Jesus whom thou persecutest. But rise, 
and stand upon thy feet, for I have appeared unto thee for this 
purpose, to make thee a minister and a witness both of these 
things which thou hast seen, and of those things in the which 
I will appear unto thee ; delivering thee from the people, and 
from the Gentiles, unto whom now I send thee, to open their 
eyes and to turn them, from darkness to light, and from the 
power of Satan unto God; that they may receive forgiveness of 
sins, and inheritance among them which are sanctified by faith 
that is in me/' Whereupon, King Agrippa, I was not disobe- 
dient unto the heavenly vision ; but showed first unto them of 
Damascus, and at Jerusalem, and throughout all the coasts of 
Judea, and then to the Gentiles, that they should repent, and 
turn to God, and do works meet for repentance. For these 
causes, the Jews caught me in the temple, and went about to 
kill me. Having therefore obtained help of God, I continue 
unto this day, witnessing both to small and great, saying none 
other things than those which the prophets and Moses did say 
should come, that Christ should suffer, and that he should be 
the first that should rise from the dead, and should show light 
unto the people, and to the Gentiles. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 145 

WHAT CAX BE DOXi: .?— Beecher. 

TThat can be done? ten tliousancl voices reply. ••'Xothing; 
ob., nothing ; men always have drunk to excess, and they always 
will ; there is so much capital embarked in the business of im- 
portation and distillation, and so much supposed gain in vending 
ardent spirits, and such an insatiable demand for them, and such 
ability to pay for them by high-minded, wilful, independent free- 
men, that nothing can be done/' 

Then farewell, a long farewell, to all our greatness ! The pre- 
sent abuse of ardent spirits has grown out of what was the 
prudent use of it less than one hundred years ago ; then there 
was very little intemperance in the land ] most men who drank 
at all, drank temperately. But if the prudent use of ardent 
spirits one hundred years ago. has produced such results as now 
exist, what will the present intemperate use accomplish in a cen- 
tury to come ? Let no man turn off his eye from this subject, 
or refuse to reason, and infer ^ there is a moral certainty of a 
wide-extended ruin, without reformation. The seasons are not 
more sure to roll, the sun to shine, or the rivers to flow, than the 
present enormous consumption of ardent spirits is sure to pro- 
duce the most deadly consequences to the nation. And shall it 
come unresisted by prayer, and without a finger lifted to stay 
the desolation ? 

Why can nothing be done ? Because the intemperate will 
not stop drinking, shall the temperate keep on and become 
drunkards ? Because the intemperate cannot be reasoned with, 
shall the temperate become madmen ? And because force will 
not avail with men of independence and property, does it follow 
that reason, and conscience, and the fear of the Lord, will have 
no influence ? 

And because the public mind is now unenlightened, and un- 
awakened, and uncoucentrated, does it follow that it cannot be 
enlightened, and aroused, and concentrated in one simultaneous 
and successful effort ? Keformations as much resisted by popular 
feeling, and impeded by ignorance, interest, and depraved 
obstinacy, have been accomplished, through the medium of a 
13 K 



146 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

rectified public opinion ; and no nation ever possessed the oppor- 
tunities and tlie means that we possess, of correctly forming the 
public opinion ; nor was a nation ever called upon to attempt it 
by motives of such imperious necessity. Our all is at stake — 
we shall perish if we do not efi'ect it. There is nothing that 
ought to be done, which a free people cannot do. 

The science of self-government is the science of perfect 
government, which we have yet to learn and teach, or this nation 
and the world must be governed by force. But we have all the 
means, and none of the impediments, which hinder the experi- 
ment amid the dynasties and feudal despotisms of Europe. And 
what has been done justifies the expectation that all which yet 
remains to be done will be accomplished. The abolition of the 
slave-trade, an event now almost accomplished, was once regarded 
as a chimera of benevolent dreaming. But the band of Christian 
heroes, who consecrated their lives to the work, may some of 
them survive to behold it achieved. This greatest of evils upon 
earth, this stigma of human nature, wide-spread, deep-rooted, 
and intrenched by interest and state policy, is passing away 
before the unbending requisitions of enlightened public opinion. 

No great melioration of the human condition was ever 
achieved without the concurrent efi'ort of numbers, and no 
extended, well-directed application of moral influence was ever 
made in vain. Let the temperate part of the nation awake, and 
reform, and concentrate their influence in a course of systematic 
action, and success is not merely probable, but absolutely certain. 
And cannot this be accomplished ? Cannot the public attention 
be aroused, and set in array against the traffic in ardent spirits, 
and against their use? With just as much certainty can the 
public Sentiment be formed and put in motion, as the waves can 
be moved by the breath of heaven — or the massy rock, balanced 
on the precipice, can be pushed from its centre of motion ; — and 
when the public sentiment once begins to move, its march will 
be as resistless as the same rock thundering down the precipice. 
Let no man, then, look upon our condition as hopeless, or feel, 
or think, or say, that nothing can be done. The language of 
Heaven to our happy nation is, ''Be it unto thee even as thou 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 147 

wilt;'' and there is no despondency more fatal, or more wicked, 
than that which refuses to hope, and to act, from the apprehen- 
sion that nothing can be done. 



INTEMPERANCE AND ABSTINENCE.— Sojjtr. 

Nothing is so great a friend to the mind of man as absti- 
nence. It strengthens the memory, clears the apprehension, and 
sharpens the judgment, and, in a word, gives reason its full 
scope of acting ; and when reason has that, it is always a dili- 
gent and faithful handmaid to conscience. And therefore, when 
men look no further than mere nature, which many do not, let 
no man expect to keep his gluttony and his powers, his drunken- 
ness and his wit, his revellings and his judgment^ much less his 
conscience, together. For neither nature nor grace will have it 
so; it is an utter contradiction to the methods of both ! " Who 
hath woe ? who hath sorrow ? who hath contention ? who hath 
babblings ? who hath wounds without cause ? who hath redness 
of eyes ?'' says Solomon : — which question he himself presently 
answers. '^ They who tarry long at the wine; they who seek 
after mixed wine.'' So say I. Who has a stupid intellect, a 
broken memory, and a blasted wit, and, which is worse than all, 
a blind and benighted conscience, but the intemperate and luxu- 
rious, the epicure and the smell-feast ? So impossible is it for a 
man to turn sot, without making himself a blockhead too. I 
know this is not always the present effect of these courses, but 
in the long run it will infallibly be so. Time and luxury together 
will as certainly change the inside, as it does the outside, of the 
best heads soever, and much more, of such heads as are strong 
for nothing but to bear drink; concerning which, it ever was, 
and is, and will be, a sure observation, that such as are ablest 
at the barrel are weakest at the book. 



148 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

SLAVERY OF INTEMPERANCE.— Kiy.bkia.. 

Of all the vices tliat acquire a fearful dominion over the 
human heart, intemperance is the one whose concj nests are most 
varied, and whose slaves are most lowly. There is no rank in 
society that has not offered up victims to its wrath and paid tri- 
bute to its sovereignty. The refinement of education and the 
splendor of genius have fallen before its power. 

Truly, there is no enemy more dangerous than drunkenness, 
and no slavery more terrible than that of the drunkard. At 
one time, it encounters man under the form of custom^ habit, 
friendshl'p ! at another, under the deceitful garb of pleasure 1 
But when it has once completely fastened on its victim, to what 
a pitiable state of moral degradation is he reduced ! Were our 
fair country to become a prey to the fierce followers of Maho- 
met — were we to be spurned beneath the slipper of the haughty 
Turk — were our sacred temples to be polluted by the banner of 
the crescent — were our people to be sold into slavery — in fine, 
were all the horrors that superstition and savage atrocity could 
prompt, wreaked upon the land, our condition would offer no 
comparison to the utter abasement, to the almost hopeless misery 
of the unfortunate drunkard ! It is true, an enemy may enslave 
the body, but as yet, tyranny has forged no chains that can fetter 
the freedom of man's mind ! The dull clay may bow beneath 
the iron hand of oppression, but the soul can never be enslaved ; 
it is immortal, it is free. 

If danger threatened the safety of those we love, under any 
form of violence, how should we use every possible exertion to 
dispel its power ! If the invader's fleet hovered around our 
coasts, or if the foeman's steel glittered on our fruitful fields, 
how soon would the blast of liberty's clarion awaken all the valor 
of our souls. The peasant would leave his plough, the pale 
student his dusty tome, the mechanic the implements of his 
craft ; and all would arm in defence of their country. They 
would go forth, strong in the determination to preserve her 
liberties, or die in the attempt. Man will, on great occasions, 
sacrifice every feeling for his country's good ; but equally ready 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 149 

is he, too often, to barter his own liberty, liis honor, his char- 
acter, the peace, the very existence of his family — for what ? 
For mere brute gratification ! for senseless, stupid indulgence 1 
He will surrender the pure feelings of his heart, the glorious 
faculties of his mind, and the godlike qualities of his soul, at 
the dark shrine of drunkenness! He will become a miserable 
wretch, whose heart is vitiated, whose mind is clouded, and 
whose soul is distracted by the pangs of remorse ! How few 
there are, who, having arrived at this stage of crime, fling off 
the galling chains of servitude, and trample under foot the 
badges of their slavery ! But, when the poor victim makes one 
determined struggle, he does, with the assistance of a merciful 
God, strike off the links that bound him captive, and stand once 
more in the full consciousness of his soul's freedom ! And oh ! 
how immeasurably greater is his glory than that of the con- 
queror, whose fame is dyed in the blood of thousands I He 
indeed has triumphed over the powers of darkness — he has 
crushed beneath his heel the serpent's head — his victory is 
bloodless — it is pure. 

Man ! while it is yet in your power, break through the moral 
prison in which vice has encased the generous feelings of your 
heart ! Assert the nobleness of your birthright ! Dash from 
you the chains with which passion has bound your soul 1 Call 
on your God to aid you. Forswear for ever the fascinat- 
ing BUT DEADLY CUP ! Be free ! Be free ! 



EVILS OF THE TRAFFIC— Beecker. 

Could all the forms of evil produced in the land by intem- 
perance, come upon us in one horrid array — it would appal the 
nation, and put an end to the trajffic in ardent spirits. If in 
every dwelling built by blood, the stone from the wall should 
utter all the cries which the bloody traffic extorts, and the beam 
out of the timber should echo them back — who would build such 
a house ? — and who would dwell in it ? What if in every part 
13^ 



150 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

of the dwelliDg, from the cellar upward, through all the halls 
and chambers — babblings, and contentions, and voices, and 
groans, and shrieks, and wailings, were heard, day and night ! 
What if the cold blood oozed out, and stood in drops upon the 
walls; and, by preternatural art, all the ghastly skulls and bones 
of the victims destroyed by intemperance should stand upon the 
walls, in horrid sculpture, within and without the building ! — 
who would rear such a building ? What if at eventide, and at 
midnight, the airy forms of men destroyed by intemperance were 
dimly seen haunting the distilleries and stores where they re- 
ceived their bane — following the track of the ship engaged in 
the commerce — walking upon the waves — flitting athwart the 
deck — sitting upon the rigging — and sending up, from the hold 
within, and from the waves without, groans, and loud laments, 
and wailings ? Who would attend such stores ? Who would 
labor in such distilleries ? Who would navigate such ships ? 

But these evils are as real, as if the stone did cry out of the 
wall, and the beam answered it — as real, as if, by day and night, 
wailings were heard in every part of the dwelling — and Tblood 
and skeletons were seen upon every wall. As real, as if the 
ghostly forms of departed victims flitted about the ship as she 
passed o'er the billows, and showed themselves nightly about 
stores and distilleries, and with unearthly voices screamed ia 
our ears their loud lament ! 



THE DEALERS AND THEIR TRAFFIC. 
Christian Examiner. 

The wretches who deal out to these deluded, friendless, help- 
less beings, the poison of body and soul, cannot be reached by 
the laws of an intelligent Christian people ? Preach it till you 
are weary. Let all the rulers and judges of the land declare 
it, — we will not believe it. While there is moral force in man, 
while there is civil government in the land, and a God ruling in 
the heavens, we will not helieve it. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 151 

There is a cruel wrong somewhere, and it falls with peculiar 
weight upon those whom we are most bound to protect and 
relieve, — the poor, the young, and the tempted. There are 
inconsistencies thronging us on every side. Men talk of their 
liberty as above all price, and they are throwing it away and 
stripping others of it day by day. They groan about taxes, and 
they tax themselves and the whole community enormously year 
after year, or suffer dealers and drinkers to tax them, for the 
consumption of that which they allow they do not need, and 
which brings upon their revenue, their energies, and all their 
resources, a burden to which every other is light. We pay 
largely, and resign no little for our freedom, for the protection 
which government extends over our property and lives. But 
when we implore rulers or citizens to protect us and our child- 
ren from the decoys and pitfalls that are thick spread around us, 
or help us to snatch our brother from the merciless fangs of a 
monster in human shape, they tell us they cannot interfere with 
a man's business, they will not curtail his liberty, they must not 
hazard an election, they dare not enforce an unpopular law ; and 
so they dig another pitfall at our very door, and multiply the 
lures all along our streets, and extend over them that same 
defence which they refuse us and ours ! Oh, it is miserable 
mockery ! It is blank sophistry. It is dreadful inhumanity ! 
Where peculiarly the guilt lies, or what is the remedy, it is for 
others and all to consider. That there is guilt, every conscience 
that is alive feels. That there must be a remedy, every believer 
in God and Christianity knows. 



TT^MJi?.— Marshall. 



Oh, water ! water ! that man, of all created things, should 
turn from thee with loathing and disgust ! — man, to whom *it 
stands in ministering attendance in all its forms; — man, whom 
it blesses in blessing all things else; whether bearing aloft his 
ships upon the salt and buoyant wave in its ocean home, or 



152 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

hanging in cloudy mantles above, to protect him and shade the 
earth from the too intense and scorching rays of heaven ; or 
descending in showers or in dews, to scatter fragrance and bloom, 
to charm his sense, and to nourish vegetation for his food; or 
rolling in rivers, bursting into fountains, or leaping in cascades ; 
congealing into ice, expanding into steam, extinguishing flames; 
the vehicle of commerce, feeder of plants and flowers, fertilizer 
of earth, temperer of the air, armor of cities, assuager of thirst, — 
friend, comforter, cleanser, ally, co-worker with man through 
life, and last luxury of sensation in death, to cool him for the 
grave. Oh, that he should have turned from Nature and thee 
in search of a substitute, and found, or invented and compounded 
rather, — for he did not find it, — a fluid distillation from hell 
itself, abhorrent to all the policy of Nature, and deranging her 
whole system of economy, and of power sufficient not only to 
kill the body, but to transform, change, transmute, dehumanize 
the mind I 



AMERICAN HISTORY.— Yerflatuck. 

What has this nation done to repay the world for the benefits 
we have received from others ? We have been repeatedly told, 
and sometimes, too, in a tone of afi*ected impartiality, that the 
highest praise which can fairly be given to the American mind, 
is that of possessing an enlightened selfishness; that if the 
philosophy and talents of this country, with all their eff'ects, 
were for ever swept into oblivion, the loss would be felt enly by 
ourselves ; and that if to the accuracy of this general charge, 
the labors of Franklin present an illustrious, it is still but a 
solitary, exception. 

The answer may be given, confidently and triumphantly. 
Without abandoning the fame of our eminent men, whom 
Europe has been slow and reluctant to honor, we would reply, 
that the intellectual power of this people has exerted itself in 
conformity to the general system of our institutions and man- 
ners ; and therefore, that, for the proof of its existence and the 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 153 

measure of its force, we must look Dot so much to the works of 
prominent individuals, as to the great aggregate results ; and if 
Europe has hitherto been wilfully blind to the value of our 
example and the exploits of our sagacity, courage, invention, 
and freedom, the blame must rest with her, and not with 
America. 

Is it nothing for the universal good of mankind to have 
carried into successful operation a system of self-government, 
uniting personal liberty, freedom of opinion, and equality of 
rights, with national power and dignity ; such as had before 
existed only in the Utopian dreams of philosophers ? Is it 
nothing, in moral science, to have anticipated in sober reality, 
numerous plans of reform in civil and criminal jurisprudence, 
which are, but now, received as plausible theories by the 
politicians and economists of Europe? Is it nothing to have 
been able to call forth on every emergency, either in war or 
peace, a body of talents always equal to the difficulty ? Is it 
nothing to have, in less than a half century, exceedingly im- 
proved the science of political economy, of law, and of medicine, 
with all their auxiliary branches; to have enriched human 
knowledge by the accumulation of a great mass of useful facts 
and observations, and to have augmented the power and the 
comforts of civilized man, by miracles of mechanical invention? 
Is it nothing to have given the world examples of disinterested 
patriotism, of political wisdom, of public virtue; of learning, 
eloquence, and valor, never exerted save for some praiseworthy 
end ? It is sufficient to have briefly suggested these considera- 
tions; every mind would anticipate me in filling up the details. 

No — Land of Liberty ! thy children have no cause to blush 
for thee. What though the arts have reared few monuments 
among us, and scarce a trace of the Muse's footstep is found in 
the paths of our forests, or along the banks of our rivers ; yet 
our soil has been consecrated by the blood of heroes, and by 
great and holy deeds of peace. Its wide extent has become one 
vast temple and hallowed asylum, sanctified by the prayers and 
blessings of the persecuted of every sect, and the wretched of 
all nations. 



154 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Land of Refuge — Land of Benedictions ! Those prayers still 
arise, and they still are heard: " May peace be within thy walls, 
and plenteousness within thy palaces V ^' May there be no 
decay, no leading into captivity, and no complaining in thy 
streets V ^' May truth flourish out of the earthy and righteous- 
ness look down from Heaven/' 



EXAMPLES OF PATRIOTISM IN OUR OWN HISTORY. 

Everett. 

The national character, in some of its most important ele- 
ments, must be formed, elevated, and strengthened from the 
materials which history presents. Are we to be eternally ring- 
ing the changes upon Marathon and Thermopylae; and going 
back to find in obscure texts of Greek and Latin the great ex- 
emplars of patriotic virtue ? I rejoice that we can find them 
nearer home, in our own country, on our own soil ] — that strains 
of the noblest sentiment that ever swelled in the breast of man 
are breathing to us out of every page of our country's history, 
in the native eloquence of our mother tongue; — that the colo- 
nial and the provincial councils of America exhibit to us models 
of the spirit and character which gave Greece and Rome their 
name and their praise among the nations. Here we ought to 
go for our instruction; the lesson is plain, it is clear, it is appli- 
cable. When we go to ancient history, we are bewildered with 
the difference of manners and institutions. We are willing to 
pay our tribute of applause to the memory of Leonidas, who 
fell nobly for his country, in the face of the foe. But when we 
trace him to his home, we are confounded at the reflection, that 
the same Spartan heroism to which he sacrificed himself at Ther- 
mopylae, would have led him to tear his only child, if it hap- 
pened to be a sickly babe, — the very object for which all that 
is kind and good in man rises up to plead, — from the bosom of 
its mother, and carry it out to be eaten by the wolves of Tay- 
getus. We feel a glow of admiration at the heroism displayed 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 155 

at Marathon by the ten thousand champions of invaded Greece ; 
but we cannot forget that the tenth part of the number were 
slaves, unchained from the workshops and door-posts of their 
masters, to go and fight the battles of freedom. I do not mean 
that these examples are to destroy the interest with which we 
read the history of ancient times ; they possibly increase that 
interest, by the singular contrast they exhibit. But they do 
warn us, if we need the warning, to seek our great practical 
lessons of patriotism at home ; out of the exploits and sacrifices 
of which our own country is the theatre ; out of the characters 
of our own fathers. Them we know, the high-souled, natural, 
unaffected, the citizen heroes. We know what happy firesides 
they left for the cheerless camp. We know with what pacific 
habits they dared the perils of the field. There is no mystery, 
no romance, no madness, under the name of chivalry, about 
them. It is all resolute, manly resistance — for conscience* and 
liberty^s sake — not merely of an overwhelming power, but of 
all the force of long- rooted habits, and the native love of order 
and peace. 



FORMATION OF CHARACTER.— ;5. Hawes. 

It is ever to be kept in mind that a good name is, in all cases, 
the fruit of personal exertion. It is not inherited from parents; 
it is not created by external advantages ; it is no necessary ap- 
pendage of birth, or wealth, or talents, or station ; but the result 
of one's own endeavors — the fruit and reward of good princi- 
ples, manifested in a course of virtuous and honorable action. 
This is the more important to be remarked, because it shows 
that the attainment of a good name, whatever be your external 
circumstances, is entirely within your power. 

No young man, however humble his birth, or obscure his con- 
dition, is excluded from the invaluable boon. He has only to 
fix his eye upon the prize, and press toward it, in a course of 
virtuous and useful conduct, and it is his. And it is interesting 
to notice how many of our worthiest and best citizens have risen 



156 AMERICAN POPULAU SPEAKER. 

to honor and usefulness by dint of their own persevering exer- 
tions. They are to be found, in great numbers^ in each of the 
learned professions, and in every department of business; and 
they stand forth, bright and animating examples of what can 
be accomplished by resolution and effort. 

Indeed, my friends, in the formation of character, per- 
sonal exertion is the first, the second, and the third virtue. 
Nothing great or excellent can be acquired without it. A good 
name will not come without being sought. All the virtues of 
which it is composed are the result of untiring appHcation and 
industry. Nothing can be more fatal to the attainment of a 
good character than a treacherous confidence in external advan- 
tages. These, if not seconded by your endeavors, '' will drop 
you midway; or, perhaps you will not have started, when th^ 
diligent traveller will have won the race/' 

To the formation of a good character, it is of the highest im- 
portance that you have a commanding object in view, and that 
your aim in life be elevated. To this cause, perhaps more than 
to any other, is to be ascribed the great difference which appears 
in the characters of men. Some start in life with an object in 
view, and are determined to attain it; while others live with- 
out plan, and reach not for the prize set before them. The en- 
ergies of the one are called into vigorous action, and they rise 
to eminence ; while the others are left to slumber in ignoble 
ease, and sink into obscurity. 

It is an old proverb, that he who aims at the sun, to be sure 
will not reach it, but his arrow will fly higher than if he aimed 
at an object on a level with himself. Just so in the formation 
of character. Set your standard high ; and, though you may 
not reach it, you can hardly fail to rise higher than if you aimed 
at some inferior excellence. Young men are not, in general, 
conscious of what they are capable of doing. 

They do not task their faculties, or improve their powers, or 
attempt, as they ought, to rise to superior excellence. They 
have no high, commanding object at which to aim, but often 
seem to be passing away life without object and without aim. 
The consequence is, their efforts are few and feeble ; they are 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 157 

not waked up to anything great or distinguished, and. therefore, 
fail to acquire a character of decided worth. 

My friends, you may be whatever you resolve to be. Reso- 
lution is omnipotent. Determine that you will be something in 
the world, and you shall be something. Aim at excellence, and 
excellence will be attained. This is the great secret of effort 
and eminence. I cannot do it, never accomplished anything ; I 
will try, has wrought wonders. 

A young man who sets out in life with a determination to 
excel, can hardly fail of his purpose. There is, in his case, a 
steadiness of aim, a concentration of feeling and effort, which 
bear him onward to his object with irresistible energy, and ren- 
der success, in whatever he undertakes, certain. 



NATIONAL GEEATNESS.—JoRN Bright. 

I BELIEVE there is no permanent greatness to a nation except 
it be based upon morality. I do not care for military greatness 
or military renown. I care for the condition of the people 
among whom I live. There is no man in England who is less 
likely to speak irreverently of the crown and monarchy of 
England than I am; but crowns, coronets, mitres, military 
display, the pomp of war, wide colonies, and a huge empire are, 
in my view, all trifles light as air, and not worth considering, 
unless with them you can have a fair share of comfort, content- 
ment, and happiness among the great body of the people. 
Palaces, baronial castles, great halls, stately mansions, do not 
make a nation. The nation, in every country, dwells in the 
cottage; and unless the light of your constitution can shine 
there, unless the beauty of your legislation and excellence of 
your statesmanship are impressed there in the feelings and 
condition of the people, rely upon it you have yet to learn the 
duties of government. 



14 



158 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 



THE NATION'S SURE DEFENCE. 

* 

Intelligent free laborers are working out the great problem 
of civilizing this continent; intelligent fighting men are consoli- 
dating its government; and, underlying all, the public schools 
are silently forming a sound national character. Free as air, 
vital as electricity, and vivifying as the sunlight, they act on the 
organic forces of the nation, as these three physical agents build 
up the life of the globe out of inorganic matter. 

The insurrection will be put down by the sword and the bayo- 
net; treason will be rooted out by armed men; but even then 
the only strength of the Union will be in a public opinion based 
on an intelligent comprehension of national aifairs by the people 
of the whole nation. Unless the laws of the several states are 
administered by rulers chosen by electors whose ballots fall 
vitalized by intelligence, no standing armies, no constitutions, can 
hold them in harmonious spheres around the central sun of a 
representative government. They will shoot off in eccentric 
orbits into the unfathomable darkness of dissolution and chaos, 
never to return. 

It is a Prussian maxim, " Whatever you would have appear in 
the life of the nation you must put into the schools.'^ If the 
schools inculcate, with intellectual training, love of country, cor- 
dial submission to lawful authority, moral rectitude, some know- 
ledge of the theory and organic structure of our government, 
and a true spirit of patriotism, then shall our citizens be truly 
men, and our electors princes indeed. 

When I consider the power of the public schools, how they 
have disseminated intelligence in every village and hamlet and 
log house in the nation, how they are moulding the plastic ele- 
ments of the next generation into the symmetry of modern 
civilization, I cannot think that our country is to be included in 
the long list 

'' Of nations scattered like the chaff 
Blown from the threshing-floor of God.'' 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 159 

I hold nothing in common with those faint-hearted patriots 
who are beginning to despair of the future of our country. The 
latent powers of the nation are just coming into healthful an€ 
energetic action, and, in spite of treason, are moving the republic 
onward and upward to a higher stand-point of liberty. What 
though it comes to us amid the storm of battle, and the shock 
of contending armies I 

'* Not as we hoped ! — but what are we I 
Above our feeble dreams and plans 
God lays, with wiser hand than man's, 
The corner-stones of liberty." 

The Anglo-Saxon race, even in its ruder years, always pos- 
sessed an inherent power of independence and self-government. 
Tell me not that now, when this stubborn vitality and surplus 
energy, expended so long in overrunning the world, are guided 
by intelligence and refined by Christianity, this same race is to 
be stricken with the palsy, because of a two years' war. 

The two millions of boys now in the public schools, constitute 
a great '' League,^^ electrified by intelligence, cemented by the 
ties of one blood, one language, one course of instruction — strong 
in its power to perpetuate the Union, is the nation's sure defence. 
Long before the completion of the Pacific Railroad, these new 
recruits, drilfed in the public schools, pushed their way across 
the continent, as the Saxons swarmed out from their northern 
hives, a vast army of occupation, cultivating the '^ National 
Homestead,^' and fortifying the whole line of communication by 
a cordon of school-houses that shall hold it for ever as the 
heritage of free labor, free men, and a free nation. 

So shall the nation's pioneer go joyful on his way, 

To wed Penobscot's waters to San Francisco's bay ; 

To make the rugged places smooth, to sow the vales with grain, 

And bear, with liberty and law, the Bible in his train ; 

The mighty West shall bless the East, and sea shall answer sea, 

And mountain unto mountain call, Praise God, for we are i^seb ! 



160 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

VNITY OF OUR COUNTEY.—Cjjsm^G. 

* Our country, with all its sectional diversity of views and feel- 
ings, is one. It is one in the rich, manly, vigorous, expressive 
language we speak, which is become the vernacular tongue, as it 
were, of parliamentary eloquence, — the very oldest of constitu- 
tional freedom. It is one in the fame of our fathers, and in the 
historical reminiscences which belong to us as a nation. It is one 
in the political principles of republicanism ; one in the substan- 
tial basis of our manners ; one in the ties of friendship, affinity, 
and blood, binding us together, throughout the whole extent of the 
land, in the associations of trade, of emigration, and of marriage ; 
one in that glorious constitution, the best inheritance transmitted 
to us by our fathers, the monument of their wisdom and their 
virtue, under whose shelter we live and flourish as a people. 

To this great repubhc, union is peace, union is grandeur, union 
is power, union is honor, union is everything which a free-spirited 
and mighty nation should glory to possess. To us all, next to 
independence, next to liberty, next to honor, be we persuaded 
that a cordial and abiding confederacy of the American people 
is the greatest of earthly goods. 

Here, in the eyes of our countrymen and of the world, with the 
Muse of History before us to record our deeds and our words, 
let us, like Hannibal, at the altar of his gods, swear* eternal faith- 
fulness to our country, eternal hatred to its foes ! Show we, that 
we are wedded to the Union, for weal or for woe, as the fondest 
lover would hug to his heart the bride bound to him in the first 
bright ardor of young possession. We have not purposed to 
embark in this venture only to sail on the smooth surface of a 
summer sea, with hope and pleasure to waft us joyously along; 
but with resolved spirits, ready to meet, like true men, whatever 
of danger may descend upon our voyage, and to stand up gal- 
lantly for the treasure of honor and faith intrusted to our charge. 
Rally we, then, to the stripes and stars, as the symbol of glory to 
us, and the harbinger of liberty to all the nations of the world ! 
So long as a shred of that sacred standard remains to us, let us 
cling to it, with such undying devotion as the Christian pilgrims 
of the Middle Age cherished for the last fragment of the Cross. 



POETICAL SELECTIONS, 



14* 



POETICAL SELECTIONS. 



ADDRESS TO TEE OCEAN.— ^yro^. 

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean — roll ! 
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; 
Man marks the earth with ruin — his control 
Stops with the shore ; — upon the watery plain 
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain 
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, 
When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, 
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, 
Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and uoknown. 

His steps are not upon thy paths, — thy fields 
Are not a spoil for him, — thou dost arise 
And shake him from thee ; the vile strength he wields 
For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, 
Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies. 
And send'st him, shivering, in thy playful spray, 
And howling, to his gods, where haply lies 
His petty hope in some near port or bay. 
And dashest him again to earth : — there let him la}'. 

The armaments which thunderstrike the walls 
Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, 
And monarchs tremble in their capitals. 
The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make 
Their clay creator the vain title take 
Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war ; 
These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake. 
They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar 
Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar. 

(163 i 



164 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee ; — 
Assyria, Greece^ Rome, Carthage, what are they ? 
Thy waters wasted them while they were free, 
And many a tyrant since; their shores obey 
The stranger, slave, or savage ; their decay 
Has dried up realms to deserts : not so thou — 
Unchangeable — save to thy wild waves' play — 
Time writes no wrinkles on thine azure brow — 
Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. 

Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form 
Grlasses itself in tempests ; in all time. 
Calm or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storm, 
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime 
Dark-heaving — boundless, endless, and sublime; 
The image of Eternity — the throne 
Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime 
The monsters of the deep are made ; each zone 
Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. 



THE CLOSING TjEJ^ie.— Prentice. 

'Tis midnight's holy hour, — and silence now 

Is brooding like a gentle spirit o'er 

The still and pulseless world. Hark ! on the winds 

The bell's deep tones are swelling, — 'tis the knell 

Of the departed year. No funeral train 

Is sweeping past; yet, on the stream and wood, 

With melancholy light, the moon-beams rest 

Like a pale, spotless shroud ; the air is stirred 

As by a mourner's sigh ; and on yon cloud 

That floats so still and placidly through heaven, 

The spirits of the seasons seem to stand, — 

Young Spring, bright Summer, Autumn's solemn form, 

And Winter with its aged locks, — and breathe, 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 165 

In mournful cadences that come abroad 

Like the far wind-harp's wild and touching wail, 

A melancholy dirge o'er the dead year, 

Gone from the Earth for ever. 

'Tis a time 
For memory and for tears. Within the deep, 
Still chambers of the heart, a spectre dim, 
Whose tones are like the wizard voice of Time 
Heard from the tomb of ages, points its cold 
And solemn finger to the beautiful 
And holy visions that have passed away, 
And left no shadow of their loveliness 
On the dead waste of life. That spectre lifts 
The coffin-lid of Hope, and Joy, and Love, 
And, bending mournfully above the pale, 
Sweet forms, that slumber there, scatters dead flowers 
O'er what has passed to nothingness. • 

The year 
Has gone, and, with it, many a glorious throng 
Of happy dreams. Its mark is on each brow. 
Its shadow in each heart. In its swift course. 
It waved its sceptre o'er the beautiful, — 
And they are not. It laid its pallid hand 
Upon the strong man, — and the haughty form 
Is fallen, and the flashing eye is dim. 
It trod the hall of revelry, where thronged 
The bright and joyous, — and the tearful wail 
Of stricken ones, is heard where erst the song 
And reckless shout resounded. 

It passed o'er 
The battle-plain, where sword, and spear, and shield, 
Flashed in the light of mid-day, — and the strength 
Of serried hosts is shivered, and the grass. 
Green from the soil of carnage, waves above 
The crushed aod moldering skeleton. It came, 



166 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

And faded like a wreath of mist at eve; 
Yet, ere it melted in the viewless air, 
It heralded its millions to their home 
In the dim land of dreams. 

Eemorseless Time! 
Fierce spirit of the glass and scythe ! — what power 
Can stay him in his silent course, or melt 
His iron heart to pity ? On, still on, 
He presses, and for ever. The proud bird, 
The condor of the Andes, that can soar 
Through heaven's unfathomable depths, or brave 
The fury of the northern hurricane, 
And bathe his plumage in the thunder's home, 
Furls his broad wings at nightfall, and sinks down 
To rest upon his mountain crag, — but Time 
Knows not the weight of sleep or weariness. 
And night's deep darkness has no chain to bind 
His rushing pinions. 

Revolutions sweep 
O'er earthj like troubled visions o'er the breast 
Of dreaming sorrow, — cities rise and sink 
Like bubbles on the water, — fiery isles 
Spring blazing from the ocean, and go back 
To their mysterious caverns, — mountains rear 
To heaven their bald and blackened clifi*s, and bow 
Their tall heads to the plain, — new empires rise. 
Gathering the strength of hoary centuries. 
And rush down like the Alpine avalanche, 
Startling the nations, — and the very stars, 
Yon bright and burning blazonry of God, 
Glitter a while in their eternal depths. 
And, like the Pleiad, loveliest of their train. 
Shoot from their glorious spheres, and pass away 
To darkle in the trackless void, — Yet, Time, 
Time, the tomb-builder, holds his fierce career, 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 167 

Dark, stern, all pitiless, and pauses not 
Amid the mighty wrecks that strew his p^th 
To sit and muse, like other conquerors, 
Upon the fearful ruin he has wrought. 



THE FOUNTAIN.— Lowell. 

Into the sunshine, 

Full of the light, 
Leaping and flashing 

From morn to night; 

Into the moonlight. 
Whiter than snow, 

Waving so flower-like, 
When the winds blow I 

Into the starlight 
Rushing in spray, 

Happy at midnight, 
Happy by day ! 

Ever in motion, 

Blithesome and cheery, 
Still climbing heavenward, 

Never aweary ; — 

Glad of all weathers, 
Still seeming best, 

Upward or downward. 
Motion thy rest ; — 

Full of a nature 
Nothing can tame, 

Changed every moment, 
Ever the same ; — 



168 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Ceaseless aspiring, 

Ceaseless content, 
Darkness or sunstine 
' Thy element; — 

Glorious Fountain 

Let my heart be 
Fresh, changeful, constant, 

Upward, like thee ! 



MONTE RE F.—HoFFM AN. 

We were not many — we who stood 

Before the iron sleet that day ; 
Yet many a gallant spirit would 
Give half his years if he but could 

Have been with us at Monterey. 

Now here, now there, the shot it hailed 

In deadly drifts of fiery spray, 
Yet not a single soldier quailed 
When wounded comrades round them wailed 

Their dying shout at Monterey. 

And on — still on our column kept 

Through walls of flame its withering way ; 
Where fell the dead, the living stepped, 
Still charging on the guns that swept 
The slippery streets of Monterey. 

The foe himself recoiled aghast. 

When, striking where the strongest lay. 
We swooped his flanking batteries past. 
And braving full their murderous blast, 
Stormed home the towers of Monterey. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 169 

Our banners on those towers wave, 

And there our evening bugles play j 
Where orange boughs above their grave, 
Keep green the memory of the brave 

Who fought and fell at Monterey. 

We were not many — we who pressed 

Beside the brave who fell that day; 
But who of us has not confessed 
HeM rather share their warrior rest 

Than not have been at Monterey ? 



THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS.— Longfellow. 

Somewhat back from the village street 
Stands the old-fashioned country-seat. 
Across its antique portico 
Tall poplar-trees their shadows throw ; 
And from its station in the hall 
An ancient timepiece says to all, — 
" For ever— never ! 
Never — for ever V^ 

Half-way up the stairs it stands, 
And points and beckons with its hands, 
From its case of massive oak, 
Like a monk, who, under his cloak. 
Crosses himself, and sighs, alas ! 
With sorrowful voice to all who pass, — - 
" For ever — never ! 
Never — for ever V^ 

By day its voice is low and light; 
But in the silent dead of night, 
Distinct as a passing footstep's fall, 
It echoes along the vacant hall, 
15 



170 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Along tlie ceiling, along the floor, 
And seems to say^ at each chamber-door, — 
'' For ever — never ! 
Never — for ever V^ 

Through days of sorrow and of mirth, 
Through days of death and days of birth, 
Through every swift vicissitude 
Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood, 
And as if, like God, it all things saw, 
It calmly repeats those words of awe,— 
" For ever — never ! 
Never — for ever V 

In that mansion used to be 
Free-hearted Hospitality; 
His great fires up the chimney soared ; 
The stranger feasted at his board ; 
But, like the skeleton at the feast, 
That warning timepiece never ceased, — 
" For ever — never ! 
Never — for ever V^ 

There groups of merry children played 
There youths and maidens dreaming strayed ; 
precious hours ! golden prime, 
And affluence of love and time ! 
Even as a miser counts his gold. 
Those hours the ancient timepiece told, — 
" For ever — never ! 
Never — for ever V' 

From that chamber, clothed in white, 
The bride came forth on her wedding night; 
There, in that silent room below. 
The dead lay in his shroud of snow ; 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 171 

And in the hush that followed the prayer, 
Was heard the old clock on the stair, — 
^' For ever — never ! 
Never — for ever V^ 

All are scattered now and fled, 
Some are married, some are dead ; 
And when I ask, with throbs of pain, 
^' Ah ! when shall they all meet again V 
As in the days long since gone by. 
The ancient timepiece makes reply, — 
'' For ever — never ! 
Never — for ever !" 

Never here, for ever there, 
Where all parting, pain, and care, 
And death and time shall disappear, — 
For ever there, but never here ! 
The horologe of Eternity 
Sayeth this incessantly, — 

'' For ever — never ! 
Never — for ever V 



TEE NEW Z^/^i?.— Tennyson. 

King out, wild bells, to the wild sky, 
The flying cloud, the frosty light; 
The year is dying in the night ; 

Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. 

King out the old, ring in the new, 
Ring, happy bells, across the snow : 
The year is going, let him go ; 

Ring out the false, ring in the true. 



172 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

King out the grief that saps the mind, 
For those that here we see no more; 
Ring out the feud of rich and poor, 

King in redress to all mankind. 

King out a slowly dying cause, 

And ancient forms of party strife ; 
King in the nobler modes of life, 

With sweeter manners, purer laws. 

King out the want, the care, the sin, 
The faithless coldness of the times; 
King out, ring out my mournful rhymes, 

But ring the fuller minstrel in. 

King out false pride in place and blood, 
The civic slander and the spite ; 
King in the love of truth and right. 

King in the common love of good. 

King out old shapes of foul disease. 
King out the narrowing lust of gold, 
King out the thousand wars of old. 

King in the thousand years of peace. 

King in the valiant man and free, 
The larger heart, the kindlier hand; 
King out the darkness of the land. 

King in the Christ that is to be. 



BARBARA FRIETCHIE,—\Y^iTTmR, 

Up from the meadows rich with corn. 
Clear in the cool September morn. 

The clustered spires of Frederick stand 
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 173 

Round about them orchards sweep, 
Apple and peach tree fruited deep, 

Fair as a garden of the Lord 

To the eyes of the famished rebel horde, 

On that pleasant morn of the early fall 
When Lee marched over the mountain-wall, 

Over the mountains, winding down, 
. Horse and foot, into Frederick town. 

Forty flags with their silver stars, 
Forty flags with their crimson bars. 

Flapped in the morning wind : the sun 
Of noon looked down, and saw not one. 

Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then. 
Bowed with her fourscore years and ten ; 

Bravest of all in Frederick town. 

She took up the flag the men hauled down : 

In her attic window the staff" she set. 
To show that one heart was loyal yet. 

Up the street came the rebel tread, 
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead. 

Under his slouched hat left and right 
He glanced ; the old flag met his sight. 

" Halt V^ — the dust-brown ranks stood fast, 
'' Fire !" — out blazed the riflleblast. 

It shivered the window, pane and sash ; 
It rent the banner with seam and gash. 

Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff" 
Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf* 

She leaned far out on the window-sill, 
And shook it forth with a royal will. 
15^ 



174 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

'^ Shoot, if you must, this gray old head, 
But spare your country^s flag/' she said. 

A shade of sadness^ a blush of shame, 
Over the face of the leader came ; 

The nobler nature within him stirred 
To life that woman's deed and word : 

^' Who touches a hair of yon gray head 
Dies like a dog ! March on !" he said. 

All dsij long through Frederick Street 
Sounded the tread of marching feet : 

All day long that free flag tost 
Over the heads of the rebel host. 

Ever its torn folds rose and fell 

On the loyal winds that loved it well ; 

And through the hill-gaps sunset light 
Shone over it with a warm good-night. 

Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er, 

And the Rebel rides on his raids no more. 

Honor to her ! and let a tear 

Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier. 

Over Barbara Frietchie's grave. 
Flag of Freedom and Union, wave ! 

Peace and order and beauty draw 
Bound thy symbol of light and law ; 

And ever the stars above look down 
On thy stars below in Frederick town ! 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 175 



THE SEMINOLE'S REPLY.— Fatten, 

Blaze, with your serried columDs ! 

I will not bend the knee ! 
The shackles ne^er again shall bind 

The arm which now is free. 
I We mailed it with the thunder, 

When the tempest muttered low ; 
And where it falls, ye well may dread 

The lightning of its blow ! 

I We scared ye in the city, 

I \e scalped ye on the plain ; 
Go, count your chosen, where they fell 

Beneath my leaden rain ! 
I scorn your proffered treaty ! 

The pale-face I defy! 
Bevenge is stamped upon my spear, 

And blood my battle-cry ! 

Some strike for hope of booty, 

Some to defend their all — 
I battle for the joy I have 

To see the white man fall : 
I love, among the wounded, 

To hear his dying moan. 
And catch while chanting at his side, 

The music of his groan. 

Ye Ve trailed me through the forest. 

Ye \e tracked me o'er the stream ; 
And struggling through the everglade, 

Your bristling bayonets gleam ; 
But I stand as should the warrior. 

With his rifle and his spear; 
The scalp of vengeance still is red, 

And warns ye — Come not here ! 



176 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

I loatte ye in my bosom, 

I scorn ye with mine eye, 
And I '11 taunt ye with my latest breath, 

And fight ye till I die ! 
I ne'er will ask ye quarter, 

And I ne'er will be your slave; 
But I '11 swim the sea of slaughter, 

Till I sink beneath its wave ! 



E PLURIBUS UJSrUM.— Cutter. 

Though many and bright are the stars that appear 

In that flag by our country unfurled, 
And the stripes that are swelling in majesty there 

Like a rainbow adorning the world — 
Their light is unsullied as those in the sky. 

By a deed that our fathers have done, 
And they 're linked in as true and as holy a tie, 

In their motto of " Many in One." 

From the hour when those patriots fearlessly flung 

That banner of starlight abroad. 
Ever true to themselves, to that motto they clung 

As they clung to the promise of God ; 
By the bayonet traced in the midnight of war. 

On the fields where our glory was won — 
Oh I perish the heart or the hand that would mar 

Our motto of " Many in One." 

^Mid the smoke of the conflict, the cannon's deep roar 

How oft it has gathered renown ! 
While those stars were reflected in rivers of gore, 

Where the cross and the lion went down ; 
And though few were their lights in the gloom of that hour, 

Yet the hearts that were striking below 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 177 

Had God for their bulwark, and truth for their power. 
And they stopped not to number the foe. 

From where our green mountain-tops blend with the sky^ 

And the giant St. Lawrence is rolled, 
To the waves where the balmy Hesperides lie, 

Like the dream of some prophet of old, 
They conquered, and, dying, bequeathed to our care 

Not this boundless dominion alone, 
But that banner whose loveliness hallows the air, 

And their motto of " Many in One.^^ 

We are many in one, while there glitters a star 

In the blue of the heavens above, 
And tyrants shall quail, ^mid their dungeons afar. 

When they gaze on that motto of love. 
It shall gleam o'er the sea, 'mid the bolts of the storm — 

Over tempest, and battle, and wreck — 
And flame where our guns with their thunder grow warm, 

^Neath the blood on the slippery deck. 

The oppressed of the earth to that standard shall fly 

Wherever its folds shall be spread, 
And the exile shall feel 'tis his own native sky, 

Where its stars shall wave over his head ; 
And those stars shall increase till the fulness of time 

Its millions of cycles have run — 
Till the world shall have welcomed their mission sublime, 

And the nations of earth shall be one. 

Though the old x\llegheny may tower to heaven. 

And the Father of Waters divide, 
The links of our destiny cannot be riven 

While the truth of those words shall abide. 
Then, oh I let them glow on each helmet and brand. 

Though our blood like our rivers should run ; 
Divide as we may in our own native land, 

To the rest of the world we are one. 

M 



178 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Then up witli our flag ! — let it stream on the air ; 

Though our fathers are cold in their graves, 
They had hands that could strike — they had souls that could 
dare — 

And their sons were not born to be slaves. 
Up, up with that banner ! — where'er it may call^ 

Our millions shall rally around, 
And a nation of freemen that moment shall fall, 

When its stars shall be trailed on the ground. 



THE SOLDIER'S D BE AM.— Camfbell. 

Our bugles sang truce — for the night-cloud had lowered. 
And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky; 

And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered, 
The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. 

When reposing that night on my pallet of straw, 
By the wolf-scaring fagot t at guarded the slain } 

At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saiv, 
And thrice ere the morning I dreamed it again. 

Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array, 
Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track : 

'Twas Autumn, — and sunshine arose on the way 

To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back. 

I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft 

In life's morning march, when my bosom was young: 

I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft. 

And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung 

Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore, 
From my home and my weeping friends never to part; 

My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er. 

And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 179 

'^ Stay, stay with us, — rest, thou art weary and worn !'' 
And fain was their war-broken soldier to sta}^ ; — 

But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn, 
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away. 



PSALM OF MARBIAGK—ViKEBE Gary. 

Tell me not in idle jingle, 

" Marriage is an empty dream I" 

For the girl is dead that's single, 
And girls are not what they seem. 

Life is real ! Life is earnest ! 

Single blessedness a fib 1 
^' Man thou art, to man returnest V^ 

Has been spoken of the rib. 

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 

Is our destined end or way; 
But to act that each to-morrow 

Finds us nearer marriage-day. 

Life is long, and youth is fleeting, 

And our hearts, though light and gay, 

Still like pleasant drums are beating 
Wedding marches all the way. 

In the world's broad field of battle. 

In the bivouac of life. 
Be not like dumb-driven cattle ! 

Be a heroine — a wife ! 

Trust no future, howe'er pleasant, 
Let the dead past bury its dead I 

Act — act to the living Present ! 
Heart within and hope ahead ! 



180 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Lives of married folks remind us 
We can live our lives as well, 

And, departing, leave behind us 
Such examples as shall " tell/^ 

Such example that another, 
Wasting time in idle sport, 

A forlorn^ unmarried brother. 

Seeing, shall take heart and court. 

Let us, then, be up and doing, 
With a heart on triumph set^ 

Still contriving, still pursuing. 
And each one a husband get. 



COLD WATEE.—SiGOVRNBY. 

The thirsty flowerets droop. The parching grass 
Doth crisp beneath the foot, and the wan trees 
Perish for lack of moisture. By the side 
Of the dried rills, the herds despairing stand, 
With tongue protruded. Summer's fiery heat 
Exhaling, checks the thousand springs of life. 
Marked ye yon cloud glide forth on angel wing ? 
Heard ye the herald -drops, with gentle force 
Stir the broad heavens ? — And the protracted rain 
Waking the streams to run their tuneful way ? 
Saw ye the flocks rejoice, and did ye fail 
To thank the God of fountains ? 

See the hart 
Pant for the water-brooks. The fevered sun 
Of Asia glitters on his leafy lair. 
As, fearful of the lion's wrath, he hastes. 
With timid footsteps through the whispering reeds ; 
Quick leaping to the renovating stream, 



AMERICAN POP'ULAR SPEAKER. 181 

The copious draught his bounding veins inspires 
With joyful vigor. 

Patient o'er the sands, 
The burden-bearer of the desert clime, 
The camel, toileth. Faint with deadly thirst, 
His writhing neck of bitter anguish speaks. 
Lo ! an oasis, and a tree-girt well, — 
And moved by powerful instinct, on he speeds. 
With ac^onizino; haste to drink or die. 
On his swift courser, o'er the burning wild 
The Arab cometh. From his eager eye 
Flashes desire. Seeks he the sparkling wine. 
Giving its golden color to the cup ? 
No I to the gushing spring he flies, and deep 
Buries his scorching lip and laves his brow, 
And blesses Alia. 

Christian pilgrim, come ! 
Thy brother of the Koran's broken creed 
Shall teach thee wisdom, — and, with courteous hand, 
Nature, thy mother, holds the crystal cup, 
And bids thee pledge her in the element 
Of temperance and health. 

Drink, and be whole, 
And purge the fever-poison from thy veins, 
And pass, in purity and peace, to taste 
The river flowing from the throne of Grod ! 



ANTONT S ADDRESS TO THE ROMANS ON THE DEATH 
OE C^/S'^li?.— Shakspeare. 

Friends, Homans, countrymen, lend me your ears ; 
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. 
The evil that men do lives after them ] 
The good is oft interred with their bones; ' 

So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus 
16 



182 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Hath told you Caesar was ambitious : 
If it were so, it was a grievous fault ; 
And grievously hath Cassar answered it. 
Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest, 
(For Brutus is an honorable man ; 
So are they all, all honorable men), 
Come I to speak in Cassar's funeral. 

He was my friend, faithful and just to me : 
But Brutus says he was ambitious. 
And Brutus is an honorable man. 
He hath brought many captives home to Home, 
Whose ransoms did the general coiFers fill : 
Did this in Cassar seem ambitious ? 
When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept : 
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff : 
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ; 
And Brutus is an honorable man. 
You all did see that on the Lupercal, 
I thrice presented him a kingly crown, 
Which he did thrice refuse : was this ambition ? 
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious, 
And, sure, he is an honorable man. 
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, 
But here I am to speak what I do know. 
You all did love him once, — not without cause; — 
What cause withholds you then to mourn for him ? 
judgment ! thou art fled to brutish beasts. 
And men have lost their reason ! — Bear with me; 
My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, 
And I must pause till it come back to me. 

But yesterday the word of Caesar might 
Have stood against the world : now lies he there, 
And none so poor to do him reverence. 
O masters ! if I were disposed to stir 
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 



AxMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 183 

I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, 

Who, you all know, are honorable men. 

I will not do them wrong ; I rather choose 

To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you, 

Than I will wrong such honorable men. 

But here's a parchment, with the seal of Caesar — 

I found it in his closet, — 'tis his will. 

Let but the commons hear this testament, 

(Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read), 

And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds, 

And dip their napkins in his sacred blood } 

Yea, beg a hair of him for memory. 

And, dying, mention it within their wills, 

Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy, 

Unto their issue. 

If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. 
You all do know this mantle : I remember 
The first time ever Caesar put it on ; 
^Twas on a summer's evening in his tent — 
That day he overcame the Nervii. 
Look ! In this place ran Cassius' dagger through : 
See what a rent the envious Casca made : 
Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabbed ; 
And, as he plucked his cursed steel away, 
Mark, how the blood of Caesar followed it, 
As rushing out of doors, to be resolved 
If Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no ; 
For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel : 
Judge, you gods, how dearly Caesar loved him -I 
This was the most unkindest cut of all ; . 
For when the noble Caesar saw him stab. 
Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, 
Quite vanquished him : then burst his mighty heart ; 
And, in his mantle muffling up his face, 
Even at the base of Pompey's statua. 
Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell. 



184 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Oh, what a fall was there, my countrymen ! 
Then I, and you, and all of us, fell down, 
Whilst bloody treason flourished over us. 
0, now you weep; and, I perceive you feel 
The dint of pity : — these are gracious drops. 
Kind souls, what, weep you when you but behold 
Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look ye here I 
Here is himself — marred, as you see, by traitors. 

Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you. up 
To such a sudden flood of mutiny. 
They that have done this deed are honorable; 
What private griefs they have, alas ! I know not 
That made them do it ; — they are wise and honorable, 
And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. 
I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts : 
I am no orator, as Brutus is; 
But as you know me all, a plain , blunt man, 
That love my friend ; and that they know full well 
That gave me public leave to speak of him. 
For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, 
Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, 
To stir men's blood : I only speak right on ; 
I tell you that which you yourselves do know ; 
Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor — poor dumb mouths, 
And bid them speak for me. But were I Brutus, 
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony 
Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue 
In every wound of Caesar, that should move 
The stones of Rome to rise and piutiny. 



THE HEART OF THE WAR, 

Peace in the clover-scented air, 
And stars within the dome. 

And underneath, in dim repose, 
A plain New England home. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 185 

Within, a murmur of low tones 

And sighs from hearts oppressed, 
Merging in prayer at last, that brings 

The balm of silent rest. 



16* 



I Ve closed a hard day's work, Marty — 
The evening chores are done ; 

And you are weary with the house, 

• And with the little one. 

But he is sleeping sweetly now. 
With all our pretty brood ; 

So come and sit upon my knee, 
And it will do me good. 

Marty ! I must tell you all 
The trouble in my heart, 

And you must do the best you can 
To take and bear your part. 

You've seen the shadow on my face, 
You Ve felt it day and night; 

For it has filled our little home. 
And banished all its light. 

1 did not mean it should be so. 

And yet I might have known 
That hearts that live as close as ours 

Can never keep their own. 
But we are fallen on evil times. 

And, do whatever I may, 
My heart grows sad about the war. 

And sadder every day. 

I think about it when I work. 

And when I try to rest, 
And never more than when your head 

Is pillowed on my breast; 
For then I see the camp-fires blaze, 

And sleeping men around, 



186 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Who turn their faces towards their homes 
And dream upon the ground. 

I think about the dear, brave boys, 

My mates in other years, 
Who pine for home and those they love, 

Till I am choked with tears. 
With shouts and cheers they marched away 

On glory's shining track, 
But, ah ! how long, how long they stay ! 

How few of them come back ! 

One sleeps beside the Tennessee, 

And one beside the James, 
And one fought on a gallant ship. 

And perished in its flames. 
And some, struck down by fell disease, 

Are breathing out their life ; 
And others, maimed by cruel wounds, 

Have left the deadly strife. 

Ah, Marty ! Marty ! only think 

Of all the boys have done 
And suffered in this weary war ! 

Brave heroes, every one ! 
0, often, often in the night, 

I hear their voices call : 
^' Come on and help us ! Is it right 

That we should bear it all V 

And when I kneel and try to pray, 

My thoughts are never free. 
But cling to those who toil and fight 

And die for you and me. 
And when I pray for victory, 

It seems almost a sin 
To fold my hands and ask for what 

I will not help to win. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. IS'J 

0, do not cling to me and cry, 

For it will break my heart ; 
I ^m sure you 'd rather have me die 

Than not to bear my part. 
You think that some should stay at home 

To care for those away ; 
But still I ^m helpless to decide 

If I should go or stay. 

For. Marty, all the soldiers love 

And all are loved again j 
And I am loved, and love perhaps 

No more than other men. 
I cannot tell — I do not know — 

Which way my duty lies, 
Or where the Lord would have me build 

My fire of sacrifice. 

I feel — I know — I am not mean ; 

And though I seem to boast, 
I ^m sure that I would give my life 

To those who need it most. 
Perhaps the Spirit will reveal 

That which is fair and right; 
So, Marty, let us humbly kneel 

And pray to Heaven for light 



Peace in the clover-scented air, 

And stars within the dome ; 
And, underneath, in dim repose, 

A plain New England home. 
Within, a widow in her weeds. 

From whom all joy is flown. 
Who kneels among her sleeping babes, 

And weeps and prays alone I 



188 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 



NOT ON TEE BATTLE-FIELD.— Fierto^t. 

*'To fall on the battle-field fighting for my dear country, that would 
not be hard." — The Neighbors. 

0, NO, no — let me lie 
Not on a field of battle when I die ! 

Let not the iron tread 
Of the mad war-horse crush my helmed head ; 

jSTor let the reeking knife. 
That I have drawn against a brother's life, 

Be in my hand when death 
Thunders along, and tramples me beneath 

His heavy squadron's heels, 
Or gory felloes of his cannons' wheels. 

From such a dying bed. 
Though o'er it float the stripes of white and red^ 

And the bald eagle brings 
The clustered stars upon his wide-spread wings, 

To sparkle in my sight, 
0, never let my spirit take her flight I 

I know that beauty's eye 
Is all the brighter where the gay pennants fly, 

And brazen helmets dance, 
And sunshine flashes on the lifted lance : 

I know that bards have sung. 
And people shouted till the welkin rung 

In honor of the brave 
Who on the battle-field have found a grave : 

I know that o'er their bones 
Have grateful hands piled monumental stones. 

Some of these piles I 've seen : 
The one at Lexington upon the green 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 189 

Where the first blood was shed, 
And to my country's independence led ] 

And others, on our shore, 
The " Battle Monument' ' at Baltimore, 

And that on Bunker's Hill. 
Ay, and abroad, a few more famous still ; 

Thy " tomb/' Themistocles, 
That looks out yet upon the Grrecian seas. 

And which the waters kiss 
That issue from the Gulf of Salamis, 

And thine, too, have I seen, ' 
Thy mound of earth, Patroclus, robed in green, 

That, like a natural knoll. 
Sheep climb and nibble over as they stroll, 

Watched by some turbaned boy 
Upon the margin of the plain of Troy. 

Such honors grace the bed, 
I know, whereon the warrior lays his head, 

And hears, as life ebbs out, 
The conquered dying and the conqueror's shout. 

But as his eye grows dim, 
What is a column or a mound to him ? 

What to the parting soul, 
The mellow note of bugles ? What the roll 

Of drums ? No, let me die 
Where the blue heaven bends o'er me lovingly, 

And the soft summer air, 
As it goes by me, stirs my thin, white hair, 

And from my forehead dries 
The death damp as it gathers, and the skies 

Seem waiting to receive 
My soul to their clear depths I Or let me leave 

The world, when round my bed 
Wife, children, weeping friends are gathered, 

And the calm voice of prayer 
And holy hymning shall my soul prepare, 



190 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

To go and be at rest 
With kindred spirits — spirits who have blessed 

The human brotherhood 
By labors, cares, and counsels for their good. . 

In my dying hour, 
When riches, fame, and honor have no power 

To bear the spirit up. 
Or from my lips to turn aside the cup 

That all must drink at last, 
0, let me draw refreshment from the past ! 

Then let my soul run back, 
With peace and joy, along my earthly track, 

And see that all the seeds 
That I have scattered there, in virtuous deeds. 

Have sprung up, and have given 
Already, fruits of which to taste in heaven ! 

And though no grassy mound 
Or granite pile says 'tis heroic ground 

Where my remains repose. 
Still will I hope — vain hope perhaps — that those 

Whom I have striven to bless, 
The wanderer reclaimed, the fatherless, 

May stand around my grave. 
With the poor prisoner, and the poorest slave. 

And breathe an humble prayer, 
That they may die like him whose bones are mouldering there. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 191 

THE BELLS.— VoE. 

Hear the sledges with the bells — 
Silver bells I 
What a world of merriment their melody foretells I 
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, 

In the icy air of night I 
While the stars that oversprinkle 
All the heavens, seem to twinkle 

With a crystalline delight; 
Keeping time, time, time, 
In a sort of Runic rhyme, 
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells 
From the bells, bells, bells^ bells, 
Eells, bells, bells— 
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. 

Hear the mellow wedding bells, 

Golden bells ! 

What a world of happiness their harmony foretells ! 

Through the balmy air of night 

How they ring out their delight I 

From the molten-golden notes, 

And all in tune, 
What a liquid ditty floats 
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats 
On the moon I 
Oh, from out the sounding cells, 
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells I 
How it swells I 
How it dwells 
On the Future ! how it tells 
Of the rapture that impels 
To the swinging and the ringing 

Of the bells, bells, bells, 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
Bells, bells, bells— 
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells I 



192 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Hear tlie loud alarum bells — 
Brazen bells ! 
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells ! 
In the startled ear of night 
How they scream out their affright ! 
Too much horrified to speak, 
They can only shriek, shriek, 
Out of tune, 
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, 
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire 
Leaping higher, higher, higher, 
With a desperate desire, 
And a resolute endeavor 
Now — now to sit or never. 
By the side of the pale-faced inoon. 
Oh, the bells, bells, bells! 
What a tale their terror tells 
Of Despair ! 
How they clang, and clash, and roar ! 
What a horror they outpour 
On the bosom of the palpitating air ! 
Yet the ear it fully knows, 
By the twanging, 
And the clanging. 
How the danger ebbs and flows ; 
Yet the ear distinctly tells, 

In the jangling, * 

And the wrano^lins;, 
How the danger sinks and swells. 
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells — 
Of the bells— 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells. 
Bells, bells, bells — 
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells ! 

Hear the tolling of the bells — 
Iron bells ! 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 193 

What a world of solemn thought their monody compels ! 
In the silence of the night, 
How we shiver with affright 
At the melancholy menace of their tone ! 
For every sound that floats 
From the rust within their throats 

Is a groan. 
And the people — ah, the people — 
They that dwell up in the steeple, 

All alone, 
And who tolling, tolling, tolling, 

In that muffled monotone, 
Feel a glory in so rolling 

On the human heart a stone — 
They are neither man nor woman — 
They are neither brute nor human — 

They are Ghouls : 
And their king it is who tolls ; 
And he rolls, rolls, rolls, 
Eolls, 
A paean from the bells I 
And his merry bosom swells 

With the paean of the bells ! 
And he dances, and he yells; 
Keeping time, time, time, 
In a sort of Runic rhyme, 
To the psean of the bells — 
Of the bells : 
Keeping time, time, time, 
In a sort of Runic rhyme, 

To the throbbing of the bells— 
Of the bells, bells, bells — 

To the sobbing of the bells ; 
Keeping time, time, time, 

As he knells, knells, knells. 
In a happy Runic rhyme. 

To the rolling of the bells — 
Of the bells, bells, bells— 
IT N 



194 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

To the tolling of the bells, 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells — 
Bells, bells, bells — 
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. 



THE REMOVAL, 



A NERVOUS old gentleman, tired of trade, 
By which, though, it seems, he a fortune had made — 
Took a house 'twixt two sheds, at the skirts of the town, 
Which he meant, at his leisure, to buy, and pull down. 

This thought struck his mind when he viewed the estate; 
But, alas ! when he entered he found it too late ] 
For in each dwelt a smith ; — a more hard-working two 
Never doctored a patient or put on a shoe. 

At six in the morning, their anvils, at work. 
Awoke our good squire, who raged like a Turk. 
^' These fellows,'^ he cried, '^such a clattering keep; 
That I never can get above eight hours of sleep." 

From morning till night they keep thumping away — 
No sound but the anvil the whole of the day; 
His afternoon's nap and his daughter's new song 
Were banished and spoiled by their hammers^ ding-dong. 

He offered each Yulcan to purchase his shop ; 
But, no! they were stubborn, determined to stop; 
At length (both his spirits and health to improve). 
He cried, " I'll give each fifty guineas to move.'' 

" Agreed !" said the pair; '^ that will make us amends.'^ 
" Then come to my house, and let us part friends ; 
You shall dine; and we'll drink on this joyful occasion, 
That each may live long in his new habitation." 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 195 

He gave the two blacksmiths a sumptuous regale ; 

He spared not provisions, his wine, nor his ale ; 

So much was he pleased with the thought that each guest 

Would take from him noise^ and restore him to rest. 

" And now,^' said he, ^' tell me, where mean you to move ? 
I hope to some spot where your trade will improve.^^ 
" Why, sir/' replied one, with a grin on his phiz, 
" Tom Forge moves to my shop, and I move to his V 



ARNOLD F7iYZ'J^Zi?I£'X>.— Montgomery. 

In the battle of Sempach, in the fourteenth century, this martyr- 
patriot, perceiving that there was no other means of breaking the heavy- 
armed lines of the Austrians than by gathering as many of their spears 
as he could grasp together, opened, by this means, a passage for his 
fellow-combatants, who, with hammers and hatchets, hewed down the 
mailed men-at-arms, and won the victory. 

" Make way for liberty V' he cried — 
Made way for liberty, and died ! 

In arms the Austrian phalanx stood, 

A living wall, a human wood; 

Im pregnable their front appears, 

All horrent with projected spears. 

Opposed to these, a hovering band 

Contended for their fatherland, 

Peasants, whose new-found strength had broke 

From manly necks the ignoble yoke; 

Marshalled once more at Freedom's call, 

They cama to conquer or to fall. 

And now the work of life and death 
Hung on the passing of a breath ; 
The fire of conflict burned within ; 
The battle trembled to begin ; 



196 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Yet, while the Austrians held their ground, 
Point for assault was nowhere found ; 
Where'er the impatient Switzers gazed, 
The unbroken line of lances blazed ^ 
That line ^t were suicide to meet, 
And perish at their tyrants' feet. 
How could they rest within their graves, 
To leave their homes the haunts of slaves ? 
Would they not feel their children tread, 
With clanking chains, above their head ? 

It must not be ; this day, this hour, 
Annihilates the invader's power ! 
All Switzerland is in the field — 
She will not fly; she cannot yield; 
She must not fall; her better fate 
Here gives her an immortal date. 
Few were the numbers she could boast, 
But every freeman was a host, 
And felt as ^t were a secret known 
That one should turn the scale alone, 
While each unto himself was he 
On whose sole arm hung victory. 

It did depend on one, indeed; 
Behold him — Arnold Winkelried ! 
There sounds not to the trump of Fame 
The echo of a nobler name. 
Unmarked, he stood amid the throng, 
In rumination deep and long. 
Till you might see, with sudden grace, 
The very thought come o'er his face ; 
And, by the motion of his form. 
Anticipate the bursting storm ; 
And, by the uplifting of his brow, 
Tell where the bolt would strike, and how. 

But 't was no sooner thought than done — 
The field was in a moment won ! 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 197 

*' Make way for liberty V^ he cried, 

Then ran, with arms extended wide, 

As if his dearest friend to clasp ; 

Ten' spears he swept within his grasp. 

" Make way for liberty V he cried ; 

Their keen points crossed from side to side ; 

He bowed among them, like a tree, 

And thus made way for liberty. 

Swift to the breach his comrades fly — 

^' Make way for liberty !'^ they cry. 

And through the Austrian phalanx dart, 

As rushed the spears through Arnold's hearty 

While, instantaneous as his fall, 

E-out, ruin, panic seized them all. 

An earthquake could not overthrow 

A city with a surer blow. 

Thus Switzerland again was free — 
Thus death made way for liberty ! 



THE AMERICAN FLAG.— J)rak^. 

When Freedom from her mountain height 
Unfurled her standard to the air, 

She tore the azure robe of night, 
And set the stars of glory there ; 

She mingled with its gorgeous dyes 

The milky baldric of the skies, 

And striped its pure celestial white 

With streakings of the morning light; 

Then from his mansion in the sun 

She called her eagle-bearer down, 

And gave into his mighty hand 

The symbol of her chosen land. 
17^ 



198 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Majestic monarch of the cloud ! 

Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, 
To hear the tempest-trumpings loud, 
And see the lightning lances driven, 

When strive the warriors of the storm, 
And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven — 
Child of the sun ! to thee ^t is given 

To guard the banner of the free, 
To hover in the sulphur-smoke, 
To ward away the battle-stroke, 
And bid its blendings shine afar. 
Like rainbows on the cloud of war, 

The harbingers of victory ! 

Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly, 
The sign of hope and triumph high, 
When speaks the signal trumpet-tone. 
And the long line comes gleaming on ; 
Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, 
Has dimmed the glistening bayonet, 
Each soldier eye shall brightly turn 
To where thy sky-born glories burn ; 
And as his springing steps advance. 
Catch war and vengeance from the glance. 
And when the cannon-mouthings loud 
Heave in wild wreaths the battle-shroud, 
And gory sabres rise and fall 
Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall, 
Then shall thy meteor glances glow, 

And cowering foes shall sink beneath 
Each gallant arm that strikes below 

The lovely messenger of death. 

Flag of the seas ! on ocean wave 
Thy stars shall glitter o^er the brave ; 
When death, careering on the gale, 
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 199 

And frighted waves rush wildly back 
Before the broadside^s reeling rack, 
Each dying wanderer of the sea 
Shall look at once to heaven and thee, 
And smile to see thy splendors fly 
In triumph o'er his closing eye. 

Flag of the free heart's hope and home ! 

By angel hands to valor given ; 
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, 

And all thy hues were born in heaven. 
For ever float that standard sheet ! 

Where breathes the foe but falls before us. 
With freedom^s soil beneath our feet, 

And freedom's banner streaminsr o'er us ? 



OLD TUBAL CAIK—U^ckay. 

Old Tubal Cain was a man of might 

In the days when the earth was young ; 
By the fierce red light of his furnace bright 

The strokes of his hammer rung; 
And he lifted high his brawny hand 

On the iron glowing clear, 
Till the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers 

As he fashioned the sword and spear : 
And he sang, ^' Hurrah for my handiwork ! 

Hurrah for the spear and sword ! 
Hurrah for the hand that wields them well, 

For he shall be king and lord V 

To Tubal Cain came many a one, 
As he wrought by his roaring fire ; 

And each one prayed for a strong steel blade, 
As the crown of his heart's desire. 



200 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

And he made them weapons sharp and strong, 

Till they shouted loud for glee, 
And gave him gifts of pearl and gold, 

And spoils of the forest-tree ; 
And they sang, " Hurrah for Tubal Cain, 

Who has given us strength anew ! 
Hurrah for the smith, and hurrah for the fire, 

And hurrah for the metal true V 

But a sudden change came o^er his heart 

Ere the setting of the sun ; 
And Tubal Cain was filled with pain 

For the evil he had done. 
He saw that men, with rage and hate. 

Made war upon their kind — 
That the land was fed with the blood they shed, 

And their lust for carnage blind ; 
And he said, " Alas ! that ever I made, 

Or that skill of mine should plan. 
The spear and sword for man, whose joy 

Is to slay his fellow-man. ^^ 

And for many a day old Tubal Cain 

Sat brooding o'er his woe ; 
And his hand forbore to smite the ore. 

And his furnace smouldered low ; 
But he rose at last with a cheerful face, 

And a bright, courageous eye, 
And he bared his strong arm for the work, 

While the quick flames mounted high ; 
And he said, '^ Hurrah for my handiwork V 

And the fire-sparks lit the air ; 
" Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made V 

And he fashioned the first ploughshare ! 

And men, taught wisdom from the past, 
' In friendship joined their hands; 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 201 

Hung the sword in the hall, and the spear on the wall, 

And ploughed the willing lands ; 
And sang, " Hurrah for Tubal Cain ! 

Our staunch good friend is he ; 
And for the ploughshare and the plough 

To him our prize shall be ! 
But when oppression lifts its hand, 

Or a tyrant would be lord, 
Though we may thank him for the plough, 

We '11 not foro-et the sword V^ 



BIENZrS ADDRESS,— MiTFORB. 

Friends : I come not here to talk. Ye know too well 

The story of our thraldom ; — we are slaves ! 

The bright sun rises to his course, and lights 

A race of slaves ! He sets, and his last beam 

Falls on a slave ! — not such as, swept along 

By the full tide of power, the conqueror leads 

To crimson glory, and undying fame ; 

But base, ignoble slaves — slaves to a horde 

Of petty tyrants, feudal despots, lords, 

Rich in some dozen paltry villages — 

Strong in some hundred spearsmen — only great 

In that strange spell — a name ! Each hour, dark fraud, 

Or open rapine, or protected murder. 

Cries out against them. But this very day, 

An honest man, my neighbor — there he stands — 

Was struck — struck like a dog, by one who wore 

The badge of Ursini ! because, forsooth, 

He tossed not high his ready cap in air, 

Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts, 

At sight of that great ruffian ! Be we men, 

And suffer such dishonor ? Men, and wash not 

The stain away in blood ? Such shames are common. 



202 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

I have known deeper wrongs. I, that speak to you — 

I had a brother once — a gracious boy, 

Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope. 

Of sweet and quiet joy; there was the look 

Of heaven upon his face, which limners give 

To the beloved disciple. How I loved 

That gracious boy I Younger by fifteen years, 

Brother at once and son ! He left my side, 

A summer bloom on his fair cheeks, a smile 

Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour. 

The pretty, harmless boy was slain ! I saw 

The corse, the mangled corse, and then I cried 

For vengeance ! Rouse, ye Romans ! rouse, ye slaves ! 

Have ye brave sons ? Look, in the next fierce brawl, 

To see them die ! Have ye daughters fair ? Look 

To see them live, torn from your arms, distained. 

Dishonored 1 and if ye dare call for justice, 

Be answered by the lash ! Yet this is Rome, 

That sat on her seven hills, and, from her throne 

Of beauty, ruled the world ! Yet we are Romans ! 

Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman 

Was greater than a king ! — and once again — 

Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread 

Of either Brutus ! — once again I swear, 

The eternal city shall be free ! her sons 

Shall walk with princes ! 



THE BARON'S LAST BANQUET— Greene. 

O'er a low couch the setting sun 

Had thrown its latest ray. 
Where in his last strong agony 

A dying warrior lay. 
The stern, old Baron Rudiger, 

Whose fame had ne'er been bent 
By wasting pain, till time and toil 

Its iron strength had spent. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 20^ 

" They come around me here, and say 

My days of life are o^er, 
That I shall mount my noble steed 

And lead my band no more ; 
They come, and to my beard they dare 

To tell me now, that I, 
Their own liege lord and master born, — 

That I — ha ! ha ! — must die. 

^' And what is death ? I Ve dared him oft 

Before the Paynim spear, — 
Think ye he ^s entered at my gate, 

Has come to seek me here? 
I Ve met him, faced him, scorned him, 

When the fight was raging hot,— 
1^1 try his might — 1^11 brave his power; 

Defy, and fear him not. 

^' Ho ! sound the tocsin from my tower, — 

And fire the culverin, — 
Bid each retainer arm with speed, — 

Call every vassal in ; 
Up with my banner on the wall, — 

The banquet board prepare, — 
Throw wide the portal of my hall, 

And bring my armor there P^ 

A hundred hands were busy then, — 

The banquet forth was spread, — 
And rung the heavy oaken floor 

With many a martial tread. 
While from the rich, dark tracery 

Along the vaulted wall, 
Lights gleamed on harness, plume, and spear, 

O'er the proud, old gothic hall. 

Fast hurrying through the outer gate. 
The mailed retainers poured, 



204 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

/ 

^ On through the portal's frowning arch, 
And thronged around the board. 

While at its head, within his dark, 
Carved oaken chair of state, 

Armed cap-a-pie, stern Rudiger, 
With girded falchion, sate. 

'' Fill every beaker up, my men, 

Pour forth the cheering wine ; 
There's life and strength in every drop, — 

Thanksgiving to the vine ! 
Are ye all there, my vassals true ? — 

Mine eyes are waxing dim ; — 
Fill round, my tried and fearless ones, 

Each goblet to the brim. 

"Ye 're there, but yet I see ye not. 

Draw forth each trusty sword, — 
And let me hear your faithful steel 

Clash once around my board : 
I hear it faintly : — Louder yet ! — 

What clogs my heavy breath ? 
Up all, — and shout for Rudiger, 

^ Defiance unto Death !' '' 

Bowl rang to bowl, — steel clanged to steel 

— And rose a deafening cry 
That made the torches flare around, 

And shook the flags on high : — 
" Ho ! cravens, do ye fear him ? — 

Slaves, traitors ! have ye flown ? 
Ho ! cowards, have ye left me 

To meet him here alone ? 

" But /defy him : — let him come V^ 

Down rang the massy cup. 
While from its sheath the ready blade 

Came flashing half-way up ; 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 205 

And, with the black and heavy plumes 

Scarce trembling on his head, 
There, in his dark, carved, oaken chair. 

Old Rudio'er sat, dead. 



CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE AT BALAKLAYA. 
Texxtsox. 

Half a league, half a league, 

Half a league onward, 
All in the valley of Death 

Eode the six hundred. 
"Forward, the Light Brigade V' 
^' Charge for the guns V' he said : 
Into the valley of Death 

Eode the six hundred. 

" Forward, the Light Brigade V 
Was there a man dismayed ? 
Not though the soldier knew 

Some one had blundered : 
Theirs not to make reply. 
Theirs not to reason why. 
Theirs but to do and die, 
Into the valley of Death 

Bode the six hundred. 

Cannon to right of them, 
Cannon to left of them. 
Cannon in front of them 

Volleyed and thundered ] 
Stormed at with shot and shell. 
Boldly they rode and well, 
Into the jaws of Death, 
Into the mouth of Hell 

Bode the six hundred : 
IS 



206 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Flashed all their sabres bare, 
Flashed as they turned in air, 
Sabring the gunners there, 
Charging an army, while 

All the world wondered : 
Plunged in the battery-smoke, 
Kight through the line they broke ; 

Cossack and Eussian 
Keeled from the sabre-stroke 

Shattered and sundered. 
Then they rode back, but not — 

Not the six hundred. 

Cannon to right of them. 
Cannon to left of them, 
Cannon behind them 
* Volleyed and thundered ; 
Stormed at with shot and shell. 
While horse and hero fell. 
They that had fought so well 
Came through the jaws of Death 
Back from the mouth of Hell, 
All that was left of them. 
Left of six hundred. 

When can their glory fade ? 
0, the wild charge they made ! 

All the world wondered. 
Honor the charge they made 1 
Honor the Light Brigade, 

Noble six hundred ! 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 207 



BEAUTIFUL /S.VO F".— AYatson. 



Oh ! the snow, the beautiful snow, 
Fining the sky and the earth below ; 
Over the house-tops, over the street, 
Over the heads of the people you meet; 

Dancing, 

Flirting, 

Skimming along. 
Beautiful snow ! it can do nothing wrong. 
Flying to kiss a fair lady's cheek ; 
Clinging to lips in a frolicsome freak. 
Beautiful snow, from the heavens above 
Pure as an angel and fickle as love ! 

• 
Oh ! the snow, the beautiful snow ! 
How the flakes gather and laugh as they go ! 
Whirling about in its maddening fun, 
It plays in its glee with every one. 

Chasing, 

Laughing, 
Hurrying by 
It lights up the face and it sparkles the eye 5 
And even the dogs, with a bark and a bound. 
Snap at the crystals that eddy around. 
The town is alive, and its heart in a glow 
To welcome the coming of beautiful snow. 

How the wild crowd goes swaying along, 
Hailing each other with humor and song ! 
How the gay sledges like meteors flash by — 
Bright for a moment, then lost to the eye, 
Ringing, 

Swinging, 

Dashing they go 
Over the crest of the beautiful snow : 



208 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Snow so pure when it falls from the sky, 
To be trampled in mud by the crowd rushing by : 
To be trampled and tracked by the thousands of feet 
Till it blends with the filth in the horrible street. 

Once I was pure as the snow — but I fell : 
Fell, like the snow-flakes, from heaven — to hell : 
Fell, to be tramped as the filth of the street: 
Fell, to be scofi*ed, to be spit on, and beat. 
Pleading, 

Cursing, 

Dreading to die, 
Selling my soul to whoever would buy, 
Dealing in shame for a morsel of bread, 
Hating the living and fearing the dead. 
Merciful God ! have I fallen so low ? 
And yet I was once like this beautiful snow ! 

Once T was fair as the beautiful snow, 
With an eye like its crystals, a heart like its glow ; 
Once I was loved for my innocent grace — 
Flattered and sought for the charm of my face. 
Father, 
Mother, 

Sisters all, 
God, and myself, I have lost by my fall. 
The veriest wretch" that goes shivering by 
Will take a wide sweep, lest I wander too nigh ; 
For all that is on or about me, I know 
There is nothing that 's pure but the beautiful snow. 

How strange it should be that this beautiful snow 
Should fall on a sinner with nowhere to go ! 
How strange it would be, when the night comes again, 
If the snow and the ice struck my desperate brain ! 
Fainting, 
Freezing, 

Dying alone ! 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 209 

Too wicked for prayer, too weak for my moan 
To be heard in the crash of the crazy town, 
Gone mad in their joy at the snow's coming down ; 
To lie and to die in my terrible woe, 
With a bed and a shroud of the beautiful snow ! 



A EESPONSE TO '' BEAUTIFUL SNOW,''— Hancock, 

Cast by the bright wings of a seraph — the snow, 
From the uppermost heights to the earth below ; 
Gently enwrapping a star — begemmed spread 
O'er homes of the living and graves of the dead, 
Radiantly white as the genii of story ! 
Pure as the saints in their robings of glory ! 
Whose soft tears of sympathy froze in their fall 
For the sin and the curse that are over us all ; 
Fleecy and light from the olive-hued skies. 
As the trailing insignia of paradise ; 
The one fair perishing thing that is given, 
So worlds aglow with the splendor of heaven ! 

Proud spirit, who told of the height which you fell 
Adown ''like the snoiv -flakes fr (mi heaven to hell?^' 
God made you as fair as the beautiful snow ! 
He loves you, poor sinner, though you may not know 
How deep in that Infinite heart sank your cry 
For ^' shelter" and " rest" of the saint passing by, 
Who spurned you, and left you to die in the street. 
With a bed and a shroud of the snow and the sleet. 
The world. has cursed you, yet God has not said 
A soul shall he bartered for gold or for bread. 

He knows all your erring and horrible woe, 
The want and the crime that have maddened yoii so : 
All the dearer to him for the strife, and for stain, 
And purer to-day for repentance and pain ! 
18* 



210 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Made white by His blood, as tbe beantifal snow 
^' That falls on a sinner with nowhere to go ;'^ 
And sweeter the pardon hard won by the cries 
That from magdalen lips went up to the skies. 

Oh ! beautiful snow, from the filth of the earth, 

Swift rises again in its cherubic mirth 

In crystalline dew-drops — all glistening bright 

As clear shining stars in a heaven of night. 

If contrite to the throne of God's mercy you go, 

He will make you as pure as the " beautiful snow V^ 



TO SIGN— OR NOT. 



To sign or not to sign, that^s the question; 

Whether ^tis nobler in the mind to suffer 

The flings and arrows of an outraged conscience, 

Or to take arms against Intoxication, 

And then, by signing, end it. To sign, to live — 

Live free — and, by the act, to say we end 

The heartache, and the thousand horrid pains 

The drunkard ^s heir to. ^T is a consummation 

Devoutly to be wished. To drink, to die ; 

To die, perchance, for ever ! Oh ! how dreadful ! 

For, in that death, what agony may come, 

When Rum has shuffled off this mortal coil. 

To sign is to be free : 
Who, who could bear the gibes and scorn of men, 
The drunkard's wrong, the proud man's contumely, 
The pangs of poverty and broken hopes; 
The insolence of those that drunkards make, 
That seize their all, then spurn them from their doors, 
When he might free himself, and live in peace, 
Would he but sign the pledge ! And who would bear 
To groan and sweat beneath a life made weary 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 211 

By all the awful ills of drunkenness ? 
We scarcely know, — the fear we may not stand 
To our resolutions, true, — the crushing sense 
Of degradation that still weighs us down/ 
Doth make us bear the awful ills we have ; 
Yet will I sign, and signing, hope to live 
Henceforth in freedom and in joyous peace. 



THE BRIGHT SIDE. 

There is many a rest in the road of life, 

If we only would stop to take it, 
And many a tone from the better land, 

If the querulous heart would wake it ! 
To the sunny soul that is full of hope, 

And whose beautiful trust ne'er faileth, 
The grass is green and the flowers are bright, 

Though the wintry storm prevaileth. 

Better to hope, though the clouds hang low, 

And to keep the eyes still lifted ; 
For the sweet blue sky will soon peep through, 

When the ominous clouds are rifted ! 
There was never a night without a day. 

Or an evening without a morning ; 
And the darkest hour, as the proverb goes. 

Is the hour before the dawning. 

There is many a gem, in the path of life 

Which we pass in our idle pleasure. 
That is richer far than the jewelled crown, 

Or the miser's hoarded treasure : 
It may be the love of a little child, 

Or a mother's prayers to Heaven ; 
Or only a beggar's grateful thanks 

For a cup of water given. 



212 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Better to weave in the web of life 

A bright and golden filliag, 
And to do God^s will with a ready heart 

And hands that are swift and willing, 
Than to snap the delicate, slender threads 

Of our curious lives asunder, 
And then blame Heaven for the tangled ends, 

And sit, and grieve, and wonder. 



BINGEN ON THE EHINE.—'Mrs. Norton. 

A SOLDIER of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, 

There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's 

tears ; 
But a comrade stood beside him, while his life-blood ebbed away, 
And bent, with pitying glances, to hear what he might say. 
The dying soldier faltered, as he took that comrade's hand. 
And he said, ^' I never more shall see my own, my native land : 
Take a message, and a token, to some distant friends of mine, 
For I was born at Bingen — at Bingen on the Bhine ! 

^' Tell my brothers and companions, when they meet and crowd 

around 
To hear my mournful story in the pleasant vineyard ground. 
That we fought the battle bravely, and when the day was done. 
Full many a corpse lay ghastly pale, beneath the setting sun. 
And midst the dead and dying were some grown old in wars. 
The death-wound on their gallant breasts, the last of many scars : 
But some were young — and suddenly beheld life's morn decline; 
And one had come from Bingen — fair Bingen on the Rhine ! 

'^ Tell my mother that her other sons shall comfort her old age, 
And I was aye a truant bird, that thought his home a cage : 
For my father was a soldier, and even as a child 
My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce and 
wild: 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 213 

And when he died, and left us to divide his scanty hoard, 

I let them take whatever they would, but kept my father's sword ; 

And with boyish love I hung it where the bright light used to 

shine, 
On the cottage-wall at Bingen — calm Bingen on the Bhine ! 

'' Tell my sister not to weep for me, and sob with drooping head, 
When the troops are marching home again, with glad and gal- 
lant tread ; 
But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and steadfast eye, 
For her brother was a soldier too, and not afraid to die. 
And if a comrade seek her love, I ask her in my name 
To listen to him kindly, without regret or shame ; 
And to hang the old sword in its place (my father^s sword and 

mine) 
For the honor of old Bingen — dear Bingen on the Rhine ! 

^' There ^s another — not a sister : in the happy days gone by, 
You ^d have known her by the merriment that sparkled in her 

eye; 
Too innocent for coquetry — too fond for idle scorning — 
Oh ! friend, I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes heaviest 

mourning; 
Tell her the last night of my life (for ere the moon be risen 
My body will be out of pain — my soul be out of prison), 
I dreamed I stood with her, and saw the yellow sunlight shine 
On the vine-clad hills of Bingen — fair Bingen on the Bhine 1 

'' I saw the blue Bhine sweep along — I heard, or seemed to hear, 
The Grerman songs we used to sing, in chorus sweet and clear ; 
And down the pleasant river, and up the slanting hill. 
The echoing chorus sounded, through the evening calm and 

still ; 
And her glad blue eyes were on me as we passed with friendly 

- talk 
Down many a path beloved of yore, aod well-remembered walk. 
And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly in mine : 
But we ^11 meet no more at Binoren — loved Binoren on the Bhine V' 



214 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

His voice grew faint and hoarser — his grasp was childish weak — 
His eyes put on a dying look — he sigh'd and ceased to speak : 
His comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of life had fled — 
The soldier of the Legion, in a foreign land — was dead ! 
And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she looked down 
On the red sand of the battle-field, with bloody corpses strown ; 
Yea, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seemed to 

shine, 
As it shone on distant Biu2:en — fair Bino^en on the Rhine ! 



WANTED, A MINISTERS WIFE, 

At length we have settled a pastor : 

I am sure I cannot tell why 
The people should grow so restless, 

Or candidates grow so shy ] 
But after a two years^ searching 

For the " smartest'^ man in the land. 
In a fit of desperation 

We took the nearest at hand. 

And really, he answers nicely 

To '' fill up the gap,'' you know; 
To " run the machine, '^ and " bring up arrears,*' 

And make things generally go; 
He has a few little failings. 

His sermons are common-place quite, 
But his manner is very charming. 

And his teeth are perfectly white. 

And so, of all the '' dear people,'' 

Not one in a hundred complains, 
For beauty and grace of manner 

Are so much better than brains. 
But the parish have all concluded 

He needs a partner for life, 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 215 

To shine a gem in the parlor : 
" Wanted, a minister's wife V' 

Wanted, a perfect lady, 

Delicate, gentle, refined, 
With every beauty of person, 

And every endowment of mind ; 
Fitted by early culture 

To move in fashionable life — 
Please notice our advertisement : 

'' Wanted, a minister's wife V^ 

Wanted, a thoroughbred worker. 

Who well to her household looks ; 
(Shall we see our money wasted 

By extravagant Irish cooks ?) 
Who cuts the daily expenses 

With economy sharp as a knife ; 
And washes and scrubs in the kitchen : 

" Wanted, a minister's wife V^ 

A very " domestic person,'^ 

To callers she must not be " out," 
It has such a bad appearance 

For her to be gadding about: 
Only to visit the parish 

Every year of her life, 
And attend the funerals and weddings : 

^' Wanted, a minister's wife !" 

To conduct the ^^ ladies' meeting,'' 

The ^^ sewing circle" attend ; 
And when we work for the soldiers, 

Her ready assistance to lend. 
To clothe the destitute children 

Vv^hen sorrow and want are rife, 
And look up Sunday-school scholars : 

^^ Wanted, a minister's wife !" 



216 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Careful to entertain strangers, 

Travelling agents, and " such/^ 
Of this kind of angel visits, 

The deacons have had so much 
As to prove a perfect nuisance, 

And hope these plagues of their life 
Can soon be sent to the parson's : 

" Wanted, a minister's wife V^ 

A perfect pattern of prudence, 

Than all others spending less, 
But never disgracing the parish 

By looking shabby in dress ; 
Playing the organ on Sunday 

Would aid our laudable strife 
To save the society inoney : 

" Wanted, a minister's wife !'' 

And when we have found the person, 

We hope, by working the two. 
To lift our debt, and build a new church. 

Then we shall know what to do ; 
For they will be worn and weary, 

And we '11 advertise : " Wanted, 

A minister and his wife V* 



THROVGH DEATH TO LIFE.— Raubavgb. 

Have you heard the tale of the Aloe plant, 

Away in the sunny clime ? 
By humble growth of a hundred years 

It reaches its blooming time ; 
And then a wondrous bud at its crown 

Breaks into a thousand flowers : 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 217 

This floral queen, in its blooming seen, 

Is the pride of the tropical bowers. 
But the plant to the flower is a sacrifice, 
For it blooms but once, and in blooming dies. 

Have you further heard of this Aloe plant 

That grows in the sunny clime, 
How every one of its thousand flowers, 

As they drop in the blooming time, 
Is an infant plant that fastens its roots 

In the place where it falls on the ground ; 
And, fast as they drop from the dying stem, 

Grow lively and lovely around ? 
By dying it liveth a thousandfold 
In the young that spring from the death of the old. 

Have you heard the tale of the Pelican, 

The Arab's G-imel el Bahr, 
That lives in the African solitudes. 

Where the birds that live lonely are ? 
Have you heard how it loves its tender young, 

And cares and toils for their good ? 
It brings them water from fountains afar. 

And fishes the seas for their food. 
In famine it feeds them — what love can devise ! — 
The blood of its bosom, and feeding them dies. 

Have you heard the tale they tell of the Swan, 

The snow-white bird of the lake ? 
It noiselessly floats on the silvery wave, 

It silently sits in the brake ; 
For it saves its song till the end of life. 

And then, in the soft, still even, 
'Mid the golden light of the setting sun. 

It sings as it soars into heaven ! 
And the blessed notes fall back from the skies ; 
^Tis its only song, for in singing it dies. 
19 



218 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

You have heard these tales ; shall I tell you one 

A greater and better than all ? 
Have you heard of Him whom the heavens adore, 

Before whom the hosts of them fall ? 
How He left the choirs and anthems above, 

For earth in its wailings and woes, 
To suffer the shame and pain of the cross, 

And die for the life of His foes? 
prince of the noble ! sufferer divine ! 
What sorrow and sacrifice equal to Thine I 



THE SLEEPING SENTINEL.— J anyier. 

'TwAS in the sultry summer-time, as War's red records show, 

When patriot armies rose to meet a fratricidal foe — 

When, from the North and East and West, like the upheaving 

sea, 
Swept forth Columbia's sons, to make our country truly free. 

Within a prison's dismal w^alls, where shadows veiled decay — 
In fetters, on a heap of straw, a youthful soldier lay : 
Heart-broken, hopeless, and forlorn, with short and feverish 

breath, 
He waited but the appointed hour to die a culprit's death. 

Yet, but a few brief weeks before, untroubled with a care, 
He roamed at will, and freely drew his native mountain air — 
Where sparkling streams leap mossy rocks, from many a wood- 
land font, 
And waving elms, and grassy slopes, give beauty to Vermont ! 

Where, dwelling in an humble cot, a tiller of the soil, 
Encircled by a mother's love, he shared a father's toil — 
Till, borne upon the wailing winds, his suffering country's cry 
Fired his young heart with fervent zeal for her to live or die. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 219 

Then left he all : — a few fond tears, by firmness half concealed, 
A blessing, and a parting prayer, and he was in the field — 
The field of strife, whose dews are blood, whose breezes War^s 

hot breathy 
Whose fruits are garnered in the grave^ whose husbandman is 

Death ! 

Without a murmur, he endured a service new and hard; 

But, wearied with a toilsome march, it chanced one night, on 

guard, 
He sank exhausted at his post, and the gray morning found 
His prostrate form — a sentinel, asleep, upon the ground ! 

So, in the silence of the night, aweary, on the sod 
Sank the disciples, watching near the suffering Son of God; — 
Yet, Jesus, with compassion moved, beheld their heavy eyes. 
And, though betrayed to ruthless foes, forgiving, bade them rise ! 

But God is love, — and finite minds can faintly comprehend 
How gentle Mercy, in His rule, may with stern Justice blend; 
And this poor soldier, seized and bound, found none to justify, 
While War's inexorable law decreed that he must die. 



'Twas night. — In a secluded room, with measured tread, and 

slow, 
A statesman of commanding mien, paced gravely to and fro. 
Oppressed, he pondered on a land by civil discord rent ; 
On brothers armed in deadly strife : — it was the President ! 

The woes of thirty millions filled his burdened heart with grief; 
Embattled hosts, on land and sea, acknowledged him their chief; 
And yet, amid the din of war, he heard the plaintive cry 
Of that poor soldier, as he lay in prison, doomed to die ! 



'Twas mornino\ — On a tented field, and throu2:h the heated haze 
Flashed back, from lines of burnished arms, the sun's efi'ulgent 
blaze ; 



220 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

While, from a sombre prison-house, seen slowly to emerge, 
A sad procession, o'er the sward, moved to a mufHed dirge. 

And in the midst, with faltering step, and pale and anxious face, 
In manacles, between two guards, a soldier had his place. 
A youth — led out to die ; — and yet, it was not death, but shame, 
That smote his gallant heart with dread, and shook his manly 
frame ! 

Still on, before the marshalled ranks, the train pursued its way 
Up to the designated spot, whereon a coffin lay — 
His coffin ! And, with reeling brain, despairing — desolate — 
He took his station by its side, abandoned to his fate ! 

Then came across his wavering sight strange pictures in the 

air; — 
He saw his distant mountain home ; he saw his parents there ; 
He saw them bowed with hopeless grief, through fast-declining 

years ; 
He saw a nameless grave; and then, the vision closed — in tears I 

Yet, once again. In double file, advancing, then, he saw 

Twelve comrades, sternly set apart to execute the law — 

But saw no more: — his senses swam — deep darkness settled 

round — 
And, shuddering, he awaited now the fatal volley's sound ! 

Then suddenly was heard the noise of steeds and wheels ap- 
proach — 

And, rolling through a cloud of dust, appeared a stately coach. 

On, past the guards, and through the field, its rapid course was 
bent. 

Till, halting, 'mid the lines was seen the nation's President ! 

He came to save that stricken soul, now waking from despair; 
And from a thousand voices rose a shout which rent the air ! 
The pardoned soldier understood the tones of jubilee. 
And, bounding from his fetters, blessed the hand that made him 
free ! 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 221 

^Twas spring. — Within a verdant vale, wliere Warwick's crystal 

tide 
Reflected, o'er its peaceful breast, fair fields on either side — 
Where birds and flowers combined to cheer a sylvan solitude — 
Two threatening armies, face to face, in fierce defiance stood ! 

Two threatening armies ! one invoked by injured Liberty — 
Which bore above its patriot ranks the Symbol of the Free ; 
And one, a rebel horde, beneath a flaunting flag of bars, 
A fragment, torn by traitorous hands, from Freedom's Stripes 
and Stars I 

A sudden burst of smoke and flame, from many a thundering 

gun, 
Proclaimed, along the echoing hills, the conflict had begun ; 
While shot and shell athwart the stream with fiendish fury sped. 
To strew among the living lines the dying and the dead ! 

Then, louder than the roaring storm, pealed forth the stern com- 
mand, 

" Charge ! soldiers, charge !'' and, at the word, with shouts, a 
fearless band, 

Two hundred heroes from Vermont, rushed onward, through the 
flood, 

And upward, o'er the rising ground, they marked their way in 
blood I 

The smitten foe before them fled, in terror, from his post — 
While, unsustained, two hundred stood, to battle with a host ! 
Then, turning, as the rallying ranks, with murderous fire, replied. 
They bore the fallen o'er the field, and through the purple tide ! 

The fallen ! And the first who fell in that unequal strife 
Was heVhom Mercy sped to save when Justice claimed his 

life— 
The pardoned soldier ! And, while yet the conflict raged around — 
While yet his life-blood ebbed away through every gaping 

wound — 

19* 



222 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

While yet liis voice grew tremulous, and death bedimmed his 

eye- 
He called his comrades to attest, he had not feared to die ! 
And, in his last expiring breath, a prayer to Heaven was sent — 
That Grod, with His unfailing grace, would bless our President ! 



THE ROMANCE OF NICK VAN STANN—Sax^. 

I CANNOT vouch my tale is true, 
Nor swear, indeed, ^tis wholly new ; 
But true or false, or new or old, 
I think you ^11 find it fairly told. 

A Frenchman, who had ne'er before 
Set foot upon a foreign shore. 
Weary of home, resolved to go 
And see what Holland had to show. 
He didn't know a word of Dutch, 
But that could hardly grieve him much ; 
He thought — as Frenchmen always do^- 
That all the world could ^^ parlei/-voo T' 

At length our eager tourist stands 
Within the famous Netherlands, 
And, strolling gaily here and there 
In search of something rich or rare, 
A lordly mansion greets his eyes ; 
^' How beautiful!'^ the Frenchman cries, 
And, bowing to the man who sate 
In livery at the garden-gate, 
'^ Pray, Mr. Porter, if you please. 
Whose very charming grounds are these ? 
And — pardon me — be pleased to tell 
Who in this splendid house may dwell V^ 
To which, in Dutch, the puzzled man 
Replied what seemed like ^' NicJc Van StannJ^ ^ 

* Niet verstaan — I don't understand. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 223 

" Thanks !'^ said the Gaul, '' the owner's taste 

Is equally superb and chaste; 

So fine a house, upon my word, 

Not even Paris can afford. 

With statues, too, in every niche, 

Of course, Monsieur Van Stann is rich, 

And lives, I warrant, like a king — 

Ah ! wealth must be a charming thing V^ 

In Amsterdam the Frenchman meets 
A thousand wonders in the streets, 
But most he marvels to behold 
A lady dressed in silk and gold. 
Gazing with rapture at the dame, 
He begs to know the lady's name, 
And hears — to raise his wonder more — 
The very words he heard before ! 
" Merct'e !'^ he cries, '^ well, on my life, 
Milord has got a charming wife ; 
^Tis plain to see, this JVick Van Stann 
Must be a very happy man T' ' 

Next day, our tourist chanced to pop 

His head within a lottery-shop. 

And there he saw, with staring eyes, 

The drawing of the Mammoth Prize. 

'^ Ten Millions ! — ^Tis a pretty sum; 

I wish I had as much at home ! 

I M like to know, as I 'm a sinner, 

What lucky fellow is the winner ?^' 

Conceive our traveller's amaze 

To hear again the hackneyed phrase ! 

" What 1 No ? — not JVlck Van Statin ao-ain ? 

5 
Faith ! he's the luckiest of men ! 

You may be sure we don't advance 

So rapidly as that in France, 

A house, the finest in the land ; 

A lovely garden, nicely planned; 



224 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

A perfect angel of a wife, 

And gold enougli to last a life — 

There never yet was mortal man 

So blest as Monsieur Nick Van Stann F' 

Next day the Frenchman chanced to meet 

A pompous funeral in the street. 

And asking one who stood near by 

What nobleman had pleased to die ? 

Was stunned to hear the old reply ! 

The Frenchman sighed and shook his head, 

^' Mon Dieu ! poor Nich Van Stann is dead ! 

With such a house, and such a wife, 

It must be hard to part with life ; 

And then, to lose that Mammoth Prize. 

He wins, and — pop ! — the winner dies ! 

Ah ! well — his blessings came so fast, 

I greatly feared they couldn^t last ; 

And thus, we see, the sword of Fate 

Cuts down alike the small and great V' 



AFTER TEE BATTLE. 



The drums are all muffled, the bugles are still; 
There ^s a pause in the valley, a halt on the hill ; 
And bearers of standards swerve back with a thrill 

Where sheaves of the dead bar the way ] 
For a great field is reaped. Heaven's garners to fill. 

And stern Death holds his harvest to-day. 

There 's a voice in the wind lik^ a spirit's low cry ; 
^T is the muster-roll sounding — and who shall reply 
For those whose wan faces glare white to the sky. 

With eyes fixed so steadfast and dimly, 
As they wait the last trump, which they may not defy ! 

Whose hands clutch the sword-hilt so grimly. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 225 

The brave heads late lifted are solemnly bowed, 

As the riderless chargers stand quivering and cowed — 

As the burial requiem is chanted aloud. 

The groans of the death-stricken drowning, 
While Victory looks on like a queen pale and proud 

Who awaits till the morning her crowning. 

There is no mocking blazon, as clay sinks to clay; 
The vain pomps of peace-time are all swept away 
In the terrible face of the dread battle-day; 

Nor coffins nor shroudings are here ; 
Only relics that lay where thickest the fray — 

A rent casque and a headless spear. 

Far away, tramp on tramp, sounds the march of the foe, 
Like a storm-wave retreating, spent, fitful and slow ; 
With sound like their spirits that faint as they go 

By the red-glowing river, whose waters 
Shall darken with sorrow the land where they flow 

To the eyes of her desolate daughters. 

They are fled — they are gone ; but oh ! not as they came ; 
In the pride of those numbers they staked on the game. 
Never more shall they stand in the vanguard of fame. 

Never lift the stained sword which they drew ; 
Never more shall they boast of a glorious name, 

Never march with the leal and the true. 

Where the wreck of our legions lay stranded and torn, 
They stole on our ranks in the mist of the morn; 
Like the giant of Gaza, their strength it was shorn 

Ere those mists have rolled up to the sky ; 
From the flash of the steel a new day-break seemed born, 

As we sprang up to conquer or die. 

The tumult is silenced ; the death-lots are cast. 
And the heroes of battle are slumbering; their last : 



226 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Do you dream of yon pale form that rode on the blast ? 

Would ye see it once more, oh ye brave ! 
Yes — the broad road to honor is red where ye passed, 

And of glory ye asked — but a grave ! 



CATO'S SOLILOQUY ON LYMO ETA LIT ¥.--- Addison . 

It must be so. — Plato, thou reasonest well ; 
Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, 
This longing after immortality ? 
Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror, 
Of falling into nought ? Why shrinks the soul 
Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? 
'T is the divinity that stirs within us, 
^T is Heaven itself, that points out an hereafter, 
And intimates eternity to man. 

Eternity ! — thou pleasing, dreadful thought ! 
Through what variety of untried being, 
Through what new scenes and changes must we pass ! 
The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me ! 
But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it. 
Here will I hold. If there 's a Power above us — 
And that there is, all Nature cries aloud 
Through all her works — He must delight in virtue; 
And that which he delights in must be happy. 
But when ? or where ? This world was made for Ceesar. 
I'm weary of conjectures — this must end ^em. 

Thus am I doubly armed. My death and life. 
My bane and antidote, are both before me. 
This* in a moment brings me to my end 3 
But this"j" informs me I shall never die. 
The soul, secure in her existence, smiles 
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. 

* The dagger. f Plato's Treatise. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 227 

The stars shall fade away, the sun himself 
Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years, 
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, 
Unhurt amid the war of elements, 
The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds. 



''AM I MY BROTHER'S KEEPER P'—Ebwarbs. 

Long ago 
When first the human heart-strings felt the touch 
Of Death's cold fingers — when upon the earth 
Shroudless and coffinless Death's first born lay, 
Slain by the hand of violence, the wail 
Of human grief arose : — " My son, my son ! 
Awake thee from this strange and awful sleep ; 
A mother mourns thee, and her tears of grief 
Are falling on thy pale, unconscious brow : 
Awake, and bless her with thy wonted smile.'' 

In vain, in vain ! that sleeper never woke. 
His murderer fled, but on his brow was fixed 
A stain which baffled wear and washing. As he fled 
A voice pursued him to the wilderness : 
"' Where is thy brother, Cain ?'' 

'' Am I my brother's keeper ?" 

0, black impiety that seeks to shun 

The dire responsibility of sin — 

That cries with the ever-warning voice : 

"Be still— away, the crime is not my own — 

My brother lived — is dead, when, where. 

Or how, it matters not, but he is dead. 

Why judge the living for the dead one's fall ?'' 



228 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

^' Am I my brother's keeper ?'^ 

Cain, Cain, 

Thou art thy brother's keeper, and his blood 

Cries up to heaven against thee : every stone 

Will find a tongue to curse thee, and the winds, 

Will ever wail this question in thy ear : 

^' Where is thy brother ?" Every sight and sound 

Will mind thee of the lost. 

I saw a man 
Deal Death unto his brother. Drop by drop 
The poison was distilled for cursed gold ; 
And in the wine-cup's ruddy glow sat Death^ 
Invisible to that poor, trembling slave. 
He seized the cup, he drank the poison down 
Rushed forth into the streets — home had he none — 
Staggered and fell and miserably died. 
They buried him — ah ! little recks it where 
His bloated form was given to the worms. 
No stone marked that neglected, lonely spot; 
No mourner sorrowing at evening came. 
To pray by that unhallowed mound; no hand 
Planted sweet flowers above his place of rest. 
Years passed, and weeds and tangled briers grew 
Above that sunken grave, and men forgot 
Who slept there. 

Once had he friends, 
A happy home was his, and love was his. 
His Mary loved him, and around him played 
His smiling children. 0, a dream of joy 
Were those unclouded years, and, more than all. 
He had an interest in the world above. 
The big " Old Bible" lay upon the stand. 
And he was wont to read its sacred page 
And then to pray : '^ Our Father, bless the poor 
And save the tempted from the tempter's art; 
Save us from sin, and let us ever be 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 229 

United in thy love, and may we meet, 
When life's last scenes are o'er, around the throne.'^ 
Thus prayed he — thus lived he — years passed, 
And o'er the sunshine of that happy home, 
• A cloud came from the pit ; the fatal bolt 
Fell from that cloud. The towering tree 
Was shivered by the lightning's vengeful stroke, 
And laid its coronal of glory low. 
A happy home was ruined ; want and woe 
Played with his children, and the joy of youth 
Left their sweet faces no more to return. 
His Mary's face grew pale and paler still, 
Her eyes were dimmed with weeping, and her soul 
Went out through those blue portals. Mary died, 
And yet he wept not. At the demon's call 
He drowned his sorrow in the maddening bowl, 
And when they buried her from sight, he sank 
In drunken stupor by her new-made grave ! 
His friend was gone — he never had another, 
And the world shrank from him, all save one, 
And he still plied the bowl Vv^ith deadly drugs. 
And bade him drink, forget his God, and die ! 

He died ! 

Cain ! Cain ! where is thy brother now 1 
Lives he still — if dead, still where is he ? 
Where ? In heaven ? Go, read the sacred page : 
" No drunkard ever shall inherit there." 
Who sent him to the pit ? Who dragged him down ? 
Who bound him hand and foot ? Who smiled and smiled 
While yet the hellish work went on ? Who grasped 
His gold — his health — his life — his hope — his all ? 
Who saw his Mary fade and die ? Who saw 
His beggared children wandering in the streets ? 
Speak — coward — if thou hast a tongue. 
Tell why wdth hellish art you slew A man. 
20 



230 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

*' Where is thy brother ?'' 

" Am I ray brother's keeper ?'' 

Ah, man ! A deeper mark is on your brow 
Than that of Cain. Accursed was the name 
Of him who slew a righteous man, whose soul 
Was ripe for heaven ; thrice accursed he 
Whose art mali2:nant sinks a soul to hell. 



THE BURIAL OF JfO>^i7/S'.— Alexander. 

*^ And he buried him in a valley in the land of Moab, over against 
Beth-peor ; but no man knoweth of his sepulchre unto this day." 

By Nebo's lonely mountain, 

On this side Jordan's wave, 
In a vale in the land of Moab 

There lies a lonely grave. 
And no man knows that sepulchre, 

And no man saw it e'er, 
For the angels of God upturned the sod, 

And laid the dead man there. 

That was the grandest funeral 

That ever passed on earth ; 
But no man heard the trampling, 

Or saw the train go forth — 
Noiselessly as the daylight 

Cornes back when night is done, 
And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek 

Grows into the great sun. 

Noiselessly as the spring-time 

Her crown of verdure weaves, 
And all the trees on all the hills 

Open their thousand leaves; 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 231 

So without sound of music, 

Or voice of them that wept, 
Silently down from the mountain's crown 

The great procession swept. 

Perchance the bald old eagle. 

On gray Beth-Peor's height, 
Out of his lonely eyrie 

Looked on the wondrous sight; 
Perchance the lion stalking, 

Still shuns that hallowed spot, 
For beast and bird have seen and heard 

That which man knoweth not. 

But when the warrior dieth, 

His comrades in the war. 
With arms reversed and muffled drum, 

Follow his funeral car ; 
They show the banners taken, 

They tell his battles won. 
And after him lead his masterless steed, 

While peals the minute gun. 

Amid the noblest of the land 

We lay the sage to rest, 
And give the bard an honored place. 

With costly marble drest, 
In the great minster transept 

Where lights like glories fall, 
And the organ rings, and the sweet choir sings 

Along the emblazoned wall. 

This was the truest warrior 

That ever buckled sword. 
This the most gifted poet 

That ever breathed a word ; 



232 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

And never earth's philosopher 

Traced, with his golden pen, 
On the deathless page, truths half so sage 

As he wrote down for men. 

And had he not high honor, — 

The hillside for a pall, 
To lie in state while angels wait 

With stars for tapers tail, 
And the dark rock-pines like tossing plumes, 

Over his bier to wave. 
And God's own hand, in that lonely land, 

To lay him in the grave ? 

In that strange grave without a name, 

Whence his uncoffined clay 
Shall break again, wondrous thought ! 

Before the judgment day, 
And stand with glory wrapt around 

On the hills he never trod. 
And speak of the strife that won our life, 

With the Incarnate Son of God. 

lonely grave in Moab's land ! 

dark Beth-Peor's hill I 
Speak to these curious hearts of ours, 

And teach them to be still. 
God hath His mysteries of grace, 

Ways that we cannot tell; 
He hides them deep, like the hidden sleep 

Of him He loved so well. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 233 

BRIDGE OF SIGHS.— Hood. 

Drowned, drowned. — Hamlet. 

One more Unfortunate, 

Weary of breath, 
Easlily importunate, 

Gone to her death I 

Take her up tenderly, 

Lift her with care, — 
Fashioned so slenderly, 

Young, and so fair ! 

Look at her garments 
Clinging like cerements ; 

WhiJst the wave constantly 
Drips from her clothing; 

Take her up instantly, 
Loving, not loathing. — 

Touch her not scornfully; 
Think of her mournfully, 

Grently and humanly; 
Not of the stains of her, 
All that remains of her 

Now is pure womanly. 

Make no deep scrutiny 
Into her mutiny 

Rash and un dutiful : 
Past all dishonor, 

Death has left on her 
Only the beautiful. 

Still, for all slips of hers, 

One of Eve's family — 
Wipe those poor lips of hers. 

Oozing so clammily. 
20* 



234 . AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Loop up her tresses 

Escaped from the comb, 

Her fair auburn tresses; 

Whilst wonderment guesses 
Where was her home ? 

Who was her father ? 

Who was her mother ? 

Had she a sister ? 

Had she a brother ? 

Or was there a dearer one 
Still, and a nearer one 

Yet^ than all other ? 

Alas ! for the rarity 
Of Christian charity 

Under the sun ! 
Oh ! it was pitiful ! 
Near a whole city full, 

Home she had none. 

Sisterly, brotherly, 
Fatherly, motherly 

Feelings had changed : 
Love, by harsh evidence. 
Thrown from its eminence; 
Even God's providence 

Seeming estranged. 

Where the lamps quiver 

So far in the river, 

With many a light 

From window and casement, 
From garret to basement. 
She stood, with amazement, 

Houseless by night. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 235 

The bleak winds of March 

Made her tremble and shiver : 
But not the dark arch, 

Or the black flowing river; 
Mad from life's history, 
Glad to death's mystery, 

Swift to be hurled — 
Anywhere, anywhere 

Out of the world ! 

In she plunged boldly, 
No matter how coldly 

The rough river ran, — 
Over the brink of it. 
Picture it — think of it, 

Dissolute man I 
Lave in it, drink of it 

Then, if you can ! 

Take her up tenderly. 

Lift her with care ; 
Fashioned so slenderly, 

Young, and so fair ! 

Ere her limbs frigidly 

Stiffen too rigidly, 
Decently, — kindly, — 

Smooth and compose them ; 

And her eyes, close them, 
Staring so blindly ! 

Dreadfully staring 

Through muddy impurity. 
As when with the daring 
Last look of despairing 

Fixed on futurity. 

Perishing gloomily. 
Spurred by contumely, 



236 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Cold inhumanity, 
Burning insanity, 

Into lier rest. — 

Cross her hands humbly, 
As if praying dumbly, 

Over her breast ! 

Owning her weakness, 

Her evil behavior, 
And leaving, with meekness, 

Her sins to her Saviour ! . 



THE CHARGE AT WATERL 00, —Scoit, 

On came the whirlwind — like the last 
But fiercest sweep of tempest-blast — 
On came the whirlwind — steel-gleams broke 
Like lightning through the rolling smoke ; 

The war was waked anew. 
Three hundred cannon-mouths roared loud. 
And from their throats, with flash and cloud, 

Their showers of iron threw. 
Beneath their fire, in full career, 
Rushed on the ponderous cuirassier, 
The lancer, couched his ruthless spear, 
And hurrying as to Itavoc near. 

The cohorts' eagles flew. 
In one dark torrent, broad and strong. 
The advancing onset rolled along, 
Forth harbingered by fierce acclaim, 
That, from the shroud of smoke and flame, 
Pealed wildly the imperial name. 

But on the British heart w^ere lost 
The terrors of the charging host ^ 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 237 

For not an eye the storm that viewed 
Changed its proud glance of fortitude, 
Nor was one forward footstep stayed, 
As dropped the dying and the dead. 

Fast as their ranks the thunder tare. 

Fast they renewed each serried square; 

And on the wounded and the slain 

Closed their diminished files again, 

Till from the lines scarce spears-lengths three, 

Emerging from the smoke they see 

Helmet, and plume, and panoply, — 

Then waked their fire at once ! 
Each musketeer's revolving knell, 
As fast as regularly fell, 
As when they practise to display 
Their discipline on festal day. 

Then down went helm and lance, 
Down went the eagle-banners sent, 
Down reeling steeps and riders went, 
Corselets were pierced, and pennons rent; 

And, to augment the fray, 
Wheeled full against their staggering flanks, 
The English horsemen's foaming ranks 

Forced their resistless way. 

Then to the musket-knell succeeds 
The clash of swords — the neigh of steeds — 
As plies the smith his clanging trade. 
Against the cuirass rang the blade : 
And while amid their close array 
The well-served cannon rent their way. 
And while amid their scattered band 
Eaged the fierce riders' bloody brand, 
Kecoiled in common rout and fear, 
Lancer and guard and cuirassier, 
Horsemen and foot, — a mingled host, 
Their leaders fallen, their standards lost. 



238 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

SHERIDAN'S BIDE.— Read. 

Up from the south, at break of day. 
Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay, 
The affrighted air with a shudder bore, 
Like a herald in haste to the chieftain^s door. 
The terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar, 
Telling the battle was on once more, 
And Sheridan twenty miles away. 

And wider still those billows of war 
Thundered along the horizon's bar; 
And louder yet into Winchester rolled 
The roar of that red sea uncontrolled, 
Making the blood of the listener cold, 
As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray, 
And Sheridan twenty miles away. 

But there is a road from Winchester town, 
A good, broad highway leading down; 
And there, through the flush of the morning li^ht, 
A steed as black as the steeds of night 
Was seen to pass, as with eagle flight, 
As if he knew the terrible need ; 
He stretched away with his utmost speed ; 
Hills rose and fell ; but his heart was gay, 
With Sheridan fifteen miles away. 

Still sprang from those swift hoofs, thundering south, 
The dust, like smoke from the cannon's mouth ; 
Or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster. 
Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster. 
The heart of the steed and the heart of the master 
Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls, 
Impatient to be where the battle-field calls ; 
Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play, 
With Sheridan only ten miles away. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 239 

Under his spurniog feet, the road 
Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed, 
And the landscape sped away behind 
Like an ocean flying before the wind ; 
And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire, 
Swept on, with his wild eye full of fire. 
But, lo ! he is nearing his heart's desire; 
He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray, 
With Sheridan only five miles away. 

The first that the Greneral saw were the groups 

Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops ; 

What was done ? what to do ? a glance told him both. 

Then striking his spurs with a terrible oath, 

He dashed down the line, ^mid a storm of huzzas, 

And the wave of retreat checked its course there, because 

The sight of the master compelled it to pause 

With foam and with dust the black charger was gray; 

By the flash of his eye, and the red nostril's play 

He seemed to the whole great army to say, 

" I have brought you Sheridan all the way 

From Winchester down, to save the day."*^ 

Hurrah ! hurrah for Sheridan ! 

Hurrah ! hurrah for horse and man ! 

And v\^hen their statues are placed on high, 

Under the dome of the Union sky. 

The American soldiers' Temple of Fame, 

There with the glorious Greneral's name 

Be it said, in letters both bold and bright : 

" Here is the steed that saved the day 
By carrying Sheridan into the fight, 

From Winchester — twenty miles away !" 



240 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

THE MADDENING BOWL, 

Oh ! take the maddening bowl away, 

Remove the poisonous cup 1 
My soul is sick — its burning ray 

Hath drunk my spirit up : 
Take — take it from my loathing lip, 

Ere madness fires my brain ; 
Take — take it hence, nor let me sip 

Its liquid death again ! 

Oh ! dash it on the thirsty earth, 

For I will drink no more ; 
It cannot cheer the heart with mirth 

That grief hath wounded sore ^ 
For serpents wreathe its sparkling brim, 

And adders lurk below; 
It hath no soothing charm for him 

Who sinks oppressed with woe. 

Then, hence ! away, thou deadly foe, — 

I scorn thy base control. 
Away, awa?/ ! I fear thy blow, 

Thou palsy of the, soul ! 
Henceforth I drink no more of thee, 

Thou bane of Adam's race ; 
But to a heavenly fountain flee, 

And drink the dews of grace. 



SHYLOCK TO JLA^TOiYJO.— Shakspeare. 

SiGNiOR Antonio, many a time and oft 
In the Rialto you have rated me 
About my moneys, and my usances: 
Still have I borne it with a patient shrug, 
For sufferance is the badse of all our tribe : 



AMFRICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 241 

You call me, — misbeliever, cut-throaty dog, 
And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine. 
And ail for use of that which is mine own. 
Well then, it now appears, you need my help; 
Go, to, then : you come to me, and you say, 
Shylock^ we icould have moneys ; You say so; 
You, that did void your rheum upon my beard, 
And foot me, as you spurn a stranger cur 
Over your threshold; moneys is your suit. 
What should I say to you ? Should I not say, 
Hath a dog money ? is it possible 
A cur can lend three thousand ducats? or 
Shall I bend low, and in a bondman's key, 
With ^bated breath, and whispering humbleness, 
Say this ? 

Fair sir, you spat on me on Yiednesday last ; 
You spurned me such a day j another time 
You called me — dog ; and for these courtesies 
Pll lend you thus much moneys. 



THE BIRTH OF GREEN ERIN, 

With all condescinshin, 

IM turn your attinshin. 
To what I would minshin on Erin so green : 

And, without hisitayshin, 

IM show how that nayshin 
Became, in creayshin, the gim an^ the queen. 

It happined wan marnin' 

Without iny warn in', 
That Yaynus was born in the beautiful say ; 

An' by that same tokin, 

(An' shoor, 'twas provokin), 
Her pinions were soakin', and wouldn't give play. 
21 Q 



242 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

So Niptune, who knew her, 

Began to purshue her, 
In ordher to woo her, the wicked ould Jew I 

An' he very nigh caught her 

Atop iv the wather. 
Great Jupither's daughther, who cried •' Poo a-loo !" 

But Jove, the great jainyous, 

Looked down an' saw Yaynus, 
An' Niptune so haynious purshuin' her woild; 

So he roared out in thundher, 

He 'd tare him asundher, 
An* shoor 't was no wondher, for tazing his choild. 

So a sthar that was fly in' 

Around him, espyin'. 
He sazed without sighin', and hurled it below, 

Where it tumbled loike winkin', 

While Niptune was sinkin', 
And gave him, I'm thinkin', the hrath iv allow! 

An' that sthar was dhryland. 

Both lowland and highland, 
An' formed a swate island, the land iv my birth ! 

Thus plain is me shtory, 

'Kase sint down from glor}^, 
That Erin so hoary 's a heaven upon earth ! 

Thin Yaynus jumped nately 

On Erin so shtately ; 
But faynted, 'kase lately so bothered and prissed; 

Which her much did bewiidher; 

But ere it had killed her, 
Her fayther dishtilled her a dhrop iv the bisht. 

An' ihnt glass so victorious, 
It made her feel glorious, 
A little uproarious, I fear it might prove : 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 243 

Hince, how can yez blame us 
That Erin ^s so faymous 
For heauty^ and murther^ and walskei/^ and love I 



THE RA VEN.—Vo^. 



Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and 
weary. 
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore ! 
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, 
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door, 
^' ^Tis some visitor/' I muttered, '^ tapping at my chamber 
door; 

Only this — and nothing more/' 

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, 

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the 
floor. 
Eagerly I wished the morrow; — vainly I had tried to borrow 
From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost 

Lenore — 
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name 
Lenore — 

Nameless here forevermore. 

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain 
Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; 

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating 
" 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door — 
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; 
This it is and nothing more/' 

Presently my soul grew stronger ; hesitating then no longer, 

" Sir," said I, " or Madam, truly y-'iir forgiveness I implore; 
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, 



244 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, 
That I scarce was sure I heard you/' — Here I opened wide 
the door; — 

Darkness there and nothing more. 

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, 
fearing, 
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream 
before ; 
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, 
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, 

'' Lenore V' 
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, 
*• Lenore T' 

Merely this and nothing more. 

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, 
Soon I heard again a tapping, somewhat louder than before. 

"' Surely," said I, " surely that is something at my window lattice ; 
Let me see, then, what thereat is — and this mystery expjore — 
Let my heart be still a moment — and this mystery explore; — 
'Tis the wind, and nothing more 1'^ 

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter. 

In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore. 
Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or 
stayed he. 
But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber- 
door — 
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber-door — 
Perched, and sat, and nothing more. 

Then this ebon bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, 

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, 
•^^ Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,'' I said, "art 
sure no craven, 



, AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 245 

Gtastly, grim, and ancient Ptaven, wandering from the Nightly 

shore — 
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian 

shore V' 

Quoth the Kaven, " Nevermore/^ 

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, 

Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore 3 
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being 

Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber-door — 
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber- 
door, 

With such name as " Nevermore/^ 

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only 

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. 

Nothing farther then he uttered 3 not a feather then he fluttered — 

Till I scarcely more than muttered, " Other friends have flown 

before — 
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown 
before/^ 

Then the bird said, ''Nevermore/^ 

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, 

"• Doubtless, ^^ said I, " what it utters is its only stock and 
store 
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster 
Followed fast and followed faster till his song one burden 

bore — 
Till the dirges of his Hope the melancholy burden bore — 
Of ' Never^ — of ' Nevermore/ ^^ 

But the Eaven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling. 
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust, 
and door; 
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking 
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore — 
21* 



246 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

What this grim, uDgainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird 
of yore 

Meant in croaking " Nevermore/' 

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing 

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's 
core ; 
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining 
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er, 
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating 
o'er — 

She shall press, ah^ nevermore ! 

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen 
censer 
Swung by seraphim whose faint footfalls tinkled on the tufted 
floor. 
"Wretch,'' I cried, '^thy God hath lent thee — by these angels 
he hath sent thee 
Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore ! 
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Le- 
nore !" 

Quoth the Eaven, " Nevermore." 

" Prophet !" said I^ '^ thing of evil ! prophet still, if bird or 
devil ! — 
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here 
ashore. 
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted — 
On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore — 
Is there — is there balm in Gilead ? — tell me, tell me, I im- 
plore !" 

Quoth the Raven, '' Nevermore." 

" Prophet !" said I, "' thing of evil, — prophet still, if bird or 
devil ! 
By that Heaven that bends above us — by that God we both 
adore — 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 247 

Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aiden, 
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore — 
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Le- 
nore." 

Quoth the Eaven, ^^ Nevermore." 

" Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend !'' I shrieked, 
upstarting — 
Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian 
shore ! 
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath 
spoken ! 
Leave my loneliness unbroken ! quit the bust above my door ! 
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off 
my door !" 

Quoth the Eaven, ^' Nevermore." 

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting 

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber-door; 
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, 
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on 

the floor ; 
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the 
floor 

Shall be lifted — nevermore ! 



A WOMAN' S ANSWER ON BEING ACCUSED OF BEING 
A MANIAC ON THE SUBJECT OF TEMPERANCE. 

Go, feel what I have felt ; 

G05 bear what I have borne — 
Sink 'neath a blow a father dealt, 

And the cold world's proud scorn 
Then suffer on from year to year — 
Thy sole relief the scorching tear. 



248 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Go, kneel as I have knelt ; 

Implore, beseecli, and pray — 
Strive the besotted heart to melt^ 

The downward course to stay; 
Be dashed, with bitter curse, aside 5 
Your prayers burlesqued, your tears defied. 

Gro, weep as I have wept, 

O'er a loved father's fall — 
See every promised blessing swept, 

Youth's sweetness turned to gall ; 
Life's fading flowers strewed all the way, 
That brought me up to woman's day. 

GrO, see what I have seen, 

Behold the strong man bow, 
With gnashing teeth, lips bathed in blood. 

And cold and livid brow; 
Gro catch his withering glance, and see 
There mirrored his souFs misery. 

Go to thy mother's side. 

And her crushed bosom cheer ; 
Thy own deep anguish hide ; 

Wipe from her cheek the bitter tear; 
Mark her worn frame and withered brow, 
The gray that streaks her dark hair now; 
With fading frame and trembling limb, 
And trace the ruin back to him 
Whose plighted faith, in early youth, 
Promised eternal love and truth ; 

But who, forsworn, hath yielded up 

That promise to the cursed cup. 

And led her down through love and light. 

And all that made her promise bright. 

And chained her there, 'mid want and strife, 

That lowly thing— -a drunkard's wife ! 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 249 

And stamped on cliildhood's brow so mild 
That withering blight, the drunkard's child. 

GrO; hear, and feel, and see, and know 
All that my soul hath felt and known, 

Then look upon the wine-cup's glow, 
See if its beauty can atone; 

Think if its flavor you will try, 

When all proclaim, '^^Tis drink, and die.'^ 

Tell me I hate the bowl — 

Hate is a feeble word : 
I loathe — abhor — my very soul 

With strong disgust is stirred, 
Whene'er I see, or hear, or tell 
Of the dark beverao-e of hell. 



SONG OF THE HUSKERS,--\Niliiti^r, 

Heap high the farmer's wintry hoard, 

Heap high the golden corn ! 
No richer gift has Autumn poured 

From out her lavish horn ! 

Let other lands, exulting, glean 

The apple from the pine, 
The orange from the glossy green, 

The cluster from the vine. 

We better love the hardy gift 

Our rugged vales bestow. 
To cheer us when the storm shall drift 

Our harvest fields with snow. 

Through vales of grass and meads of flowers, 
Our ploughs their furrows made. 

While o'er the hills the sun and showers 
Of changeful April played. 



250 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

We dropped the seed o'er hill and plain, 

Beneath the sun of May, 
And frightened from our sprouting grain 

The robber crows away. 

All through -the long bright days of June, 
Its leaves grew strong and fair, 

And waved in hot midsummer's noon, 
Its soft and yellow hair. 

And now, with Autumn's moonlit eves, 

Its harvest time has come; 
We pluck away the frosted leaves. 

And bear the treasure home. 

There, richer than the fabled gifts 

Apollo showered of old, 
Fair hands the broken grain shall sift, 

And knead its meal of gold. 

Let vapid idlers loll in silk, 

Around their costly board ; 
Give us the bowl of samp and milk, 

By homespun beauty poured. 

Where'er the wide old kitchen hearth 

Sends up its smoky curls. 
Who will not thank the kindly earth. 

And bless the farmer girls ! 

Then shame on all the proud and vain, 

Whose folly laughs to scorn 
The blessings of our hardy grain. 

Our wealth of golden corn. 

And let the good old crop adorn 

The hills our fathers trod ; 
Still let us for His golden corn 

Send up our thanks to God I 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 251 



IVRY.—A SONG OF THE HUGUENOTS.— Mac avlay. 

Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are ! 
And glory to our Sovereign Liege, King Henry of Navarre ! 
Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance, 
Through thy cornfields green, and sunny vines, oh pleasant land 

of France ! 
And thou, Rochelle, our own Eochelle, proud city of the waters, 
Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters; 
As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy, 
For cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought thy walls 

annoy. 
Hurrah ! Hurrah ! a single field hath turned the chance of war, 
Hurrah ! Hurrah ! for Ivry, and Henry of Navarre. 

Oh ! how our hearts were beating, when at the dawn of day, 
We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array; 
With all its priest-led citizens^ and all its rebel peers. 
And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish spears. 
There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land ; 
And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand : 
And, as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's empurpled 

flood. 
And good Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood; 
And we cried unto the living' God, who rules the fate of war, 
To fight for his own holy name, and Henry of Navarre. 

The King is come to marshal us, all in his armor drest. 

And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest. 

He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye; 

He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high. 

Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to wing, 

Down all our line, in deafening shout, '^ God save our Lord, the 

King." 
'^ And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may. 
For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray, 



252 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Press where ye see my white plume shine, amidst the ranks of 

war, 
And be your oriflamme to-day the helmet of Navarre/^ 

Hurrah ! the foes are moving. Hark to the mingled din, 
Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin. 
The fiery Duke is pricking fast across Saint Andre's plain, 
With all the hireling chivalry of Gruelders and Almayne. 
Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France, 
Charge for the golden lilies ! upon them with the lance ! 
A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest, 
A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white 

crest ; 
And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding 

star. 
Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre. 

Now, God be praised, the day is ours. Mayenne hath turned 

his rein. 
D'Aumale hath cried for quarter. The Flemish count is slain. 
Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale; 
The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven 

mail. 
And then we thought on vengeance, and, all along our van, 
*' Remember St. Bartholomew,^'' was passed from man to man. 
But out spake gentle Henry, '' No Frenchman is my foe : 
Down, down, with every foreigner, but let your brethren go.'' 
Oh ! was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war. 
As our Sovereign Lord, I^ing Henry, the soldier of Navarre ? 

Right well fought all the Frenchmen who fought for France to- 
day; 
And many a lordly banner God gave them for a prey. 
But we of the religion have borne us best in fight ; 
And the good Lord of Bosny hath ta'en the cornet white. 
Oar own true Maximilian the cornet white hath ta'en. 
The cornet white with crosses black, the flag of false Lorraine. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 253 

Up with it high; unfurl it wide ; that all the host may know 
How God hath humbled the proud house which wrought his 

church such woe. 
Then on the ground, while trumpets sound their loudest point 

of war, 
Fling the red shreds, a footcloth meet for Henry of Navarre. 

Ho ! maidens of Vienna; ho ! matrons of Lucerne; 

Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall re- 
turn. 

Ho ! Philip, send for charity, thy Mexican pistoles, 

That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen^s 
souls. 

Ho I gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be 
bright ; 

Ho I burghers of Saint Genevieve, keep watch and ward to- 
night. 

For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the 
slave, 

And mocked the counsel of the wise, and the valor of the brave. 

Then glory to His holy name, from whom all glories are ; 

And glory to our Sovereign Lord, King Henry of Navarre. 



CATILINE'S DEFIANCE.— Croly, 

Conscript fathers I 
I do not rise to waste the night in words ; 
Let that plebeian talk ; ^tis not my trade ; 
But here I stand for right — let him show proofs — 
For Roman. right; though none, it seems, dare stand. 
To take their share with me. Ay, cluster there ! 
Cling to your master, judges, Eomans, slaves ! 
His charge is false ; — I dare him to his proofs. 
You have my answer. Let my actions speak ! 
22 



254 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

But this I will avow, that I have scorned, 
And still do scorn, to hide my sense of wrong ! 
Who brands me on the forehead, breaks my sword, 
Or lays the bloody scourge upon my back, 
Wrongs me not half so much as he who shuts 
The gates of honor on me — turning out 
The Roman from his birthright; and, for what? 

\_Looking round him. 
To fling your offices to every slave! 
Yipers, that creep where man disdains to climb, 
And, having wound their loathsome track to the top 
Of this huge, mouldering monument of Rome, 
Hang hissing at the nobler man below ! 

Come, consecrated lictors, from your thrones ; 

^To the Senate. 
Fling down your sceptres; take the rod and axe, 
And make the murder as you make the law I 

Banished from Rome ! What 's banished, but set free 
From daily contact of the things I loathe ? 
^' Tried and convicted traitor !'^ Who says this ? 
Who ^11 prove it, at his peril, on my head ? 
Banished ! I thank you for 't. It breaks my chain ! 
I held some slack allegiance till this hour ; 
But now my sword 's my own. Smile on, my lords i 
I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes, 
Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs, 
I have within my heart's hot cells shut up. 
To leave you in your lazy dignities. 
But here I stand and scoff you ! here, I fling 
Hatred and full defiance in your face ! 
Your consul 's merciful. For this, all thanks. 
> He dares not touch a hair of Catiline ! 

'' Traitor !'' I go ; but I return. This— trial ! 
Here I devote your Senate ! I 've had wrongs 
To stir a fever in the blood of a2:e. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 255 

Or make the infant's sinews strong as steel. 

This day's the birth of sorrow ! This hour's work 

Will breed proscriptions ! Look to your hearths, my lords 1 

For there, henceforth, shall sit, for household gods, 

Shapes hot from Tartarus ! — all sliames and crimes: 

Wan treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn ; 

Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup; 

Naked rebellion, with the torch and axe, 

Making his wild sport of your blazing thrones; 

Till anarchy comes down on you like night, 

And massacre seals Rome's eternal grave. 

I go; but not to leap the gulf alone. 
J go ; but, when I come, ^t will be the burst 
Of ocean in the earthquake — rolling back 
In swift and mountainous ruin. Fare you well ; 
You build my funeral pile; but your best blood 
Shall quench its flame I Back, slaves ! [7b the lictors. 

I will return. 



THE PAUPER' 'S DEATH-BED.— Ur^. Suuthey. 

Tread softly ! bow the head — 

In reverent silence bow 1 
No passing bell doth toll ; 
Yet an immortal soul 

Is passing now. 

.Stranger, however great. 

With holy reverence bow ! 
There 's one in that poor shed- 
One by that paltry bed — 

Greater than thou. 



256 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Beneath that beggar's roof, 

Lo ! Death doth keep his state : 

Enter! — no crowds attend; 

Enter ! — no guards defend 
This palace gate. 

That pavement damp and cold 
No smiling courtiers tread; 
One silent woman stands. 
Lifting with meagre hands 
A dying head. 

JSTo mingling voices sound — 

An infant wail alone ; 
A sob suppressed — again 
That short deep gasp — and then 

The parting groan I 

Oh, change ! — oh ! wondrous change ! 

Burst are the prison bars ! 
This moment, there, so low, 
So agonized, and now 

Beyond the stars I 

Oh, change I — stupendous change ! 

There lies the soulless clod ! 
The sun eternal breaks ; 
The new immortal wakes — 

Wakes with his God ! 



MAUD MULLEE.—WiiiTTiER. 

Maud Muller, on a summer's day, 
Baked the meadow sweet with hay. 

Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth 
Of simple beauty and rustic health. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 257 

Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee 
The mock-bird echoed from his tree. 

But, when she glanced to the far-off town, 
White from its hill-slope looking down, 

The sweet song died, and a vague unrest 
And a nameless longing filled her breast, — 

A wish, that she hardly dared to own, 
For something better than she had known. 

The Judge rode slowly down the lane, 
Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane. 

He drew his bridle in the shade 

Of the apple-trees to greet the maid, 

And ask a draught from the spring that flowed 
Through the meadow across the road. 

She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up, 
And filled for him her small tin cup, 

And blushed as she gave it, looking down 
On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown. 

" Thanks V' said the Judge ; '^ a sweeter draught 
From a fairer hand was never quaffed. ^^ 

He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees, 
Of the singing birds and the humming bees ; 

Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether 
The cloud in the west would bring foul weather. 

And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown, 
And her graceful ankles bare and brown ; 

And listened, while a pleased surprise 
Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes. 

At last, like one who for delay 
Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away. 
22* R 



258 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Maud Muller looked and sighed : " All me ! 
That I the Judge's bride might be ! 

^' He would dress me up in silks so fine, 
And praise and toast me at his wine. 

^' My father should wear a broadcloth coat 
My brother should sail a painted boat. 

^^ I'd dress my mother so grand and gay, 
And the baby should have a new toy each day. 

"And IM feed the hungry and clothe the poor; 
And all should bless me who left our door.'' 

The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill, 
And saw Maud Muller standing still. 

'' A form more fair, a face more sweet 
Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet. 

" And her modest answer and graceful air 
Show her wise and good as she is fair. 

" Would she were mine, and I to-day, 
Like her, a harvester of hay : 

''• No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs^ 
Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues, 

" But low of cattle and song of birds. 
And health and quiet and loving words. ^' 

But he thought of his sisters proud and cold, 
And his mother vain of her rank and gold. 

So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on. 
And Maud was left in the field alone. 

But the lawyers smiled that afternoon, 
When he hummed in court an old love-tune ; 

And the young girl mused beside the well, 
Till the rain on the unraked clover fell. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 259 

He wedded a wife of richest dower, 
Who lived for fashion, as he for power. 

Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow. 
He watched a picture come and go ; 

And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes 
Looked out in their innocent surprise. 

Oft, when the wine in his glass was red, 
He longed for the wayside well instead; ' 

And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms, 
To dream of meadows and clover-blooms. 

And the proud man sighed, with a secret pain, 
" Ah, that I were free again ! 

'' Free as when I rode that day. 

Where the barefoot maiden raked her hay.^' 

She wedded a man unlearned and poor. 
And many children played round her door. 

But care and sorrow, and childbirth pain, 
Left their traces on heart and brain. 

And oft, when the summer sun shone hot 
On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot, 

And she heard the little spring brook fall 
Over the roadside, through the wall, 

In the shade of the apple-tree again 
She saw a rider draw his rein. 

And, gazing down with timid grace, 
She felt his pleased eyes read her face 

Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls 
Stretched away into stately halls ; 

The weary wheel to a spinnet turned. 
The tallow candle an astral burned, 



260 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

And for him who sat by the chimney lug, 
Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug, 

A manly form at her side she saw. 
And joy was duty and love was law. 

Then she took up her burden of life again, 
Saying only, " It might have been.^' 

Alas for maiden, alas for Judge, 

For rich repiner and household drudge ! 

God pity them both ! and pity us all. 
Who vainly the dreams of youth recall. 

For of all sad words of tongue or pen. 

The saddest are these : '^ It might have been V 

Ah, well ! for us all some sweet hope lies 
Deeply buried from human eyes ; 

And, in the hereafter, angels may 
Roll the stone from its grave away ! 



THE STRANGER ON THE SILL.— Eeah. 

Between the broad fields of wheat and corn 
Is the lovely home where I was born ; 
The peach-tree leans against the wall, 
And the woodbine wanders over all ; 
There is the shaded doorway still — 
But a stranger's foot has crossed the sill. 

There is the barn — and, as of yore, 

I can smell the hay from the open door, 

And see the busy swallows throng, 

And hear the pewee's mournful song; 

But the stranger comes — 0, painful proof! — 

His sheaves are piled to the heated roof. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 261 

There is the orchard — the very trees 
That knew my childhood so well to please, 
Where I watched the shadowy moments run : 
The life imbibed more of shade than sun; 
The swing from the bough still sweeps the air, 
But the stranger's children are swinging there. 

It bubbles, the shady spring below. 

With its bulrush brook where the hazels grow; 

^Twas there I found the calamus root, 

And watched the minnows poise and shoot. 

And heard the robin lave his wing — 

But the stranger's bucket is at the spring. 

0, ye who daily cross the sill, 

Step lightly, for I love it still ; 

And when you crown the old barn eaves, 

Then think what countless harvest sheaves 

Have passed within that scented door, 

To gladden eyes that are no more. 



TEE BATTLE OF WATERLOO.— '^y^o^. 

There was a sound of revelry by night, 

And Belgium^s capital had gathered then 
Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright 

The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; 

A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when 
Music arose with its voluptuous swell. 

Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, 
And all went merry as a marriage bell ; 
But hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell ! 

Did ye not hear it? — No ; ^t was but the wind, 
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; 



262 AMERICAN POPULAll SPEAKER. 

On with the dance ! let joy be un confined ; 

No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet 
To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet — 

But^ hark ! — that heavy sound breaks in once more 
As if the clouds its echo would repeat; 

And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before ! 
Arm ! arm ! it is — it is — the cannon's opening roar ! 

Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro. 
And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, 

And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago 
Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness ; 

, And there were sudden partings, such as press 

The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs 
Which ne'er might be repeated; who shall guess 

If evermore should meet those mutual eyes. 
Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise ? 

And there was mounting in hot haste : the steed, 

The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, 
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, 

And swiftly forming in the ranks of war ; 

And the deep thunder peal on peal afar ; 
And near, the beat of the alarming drum 

Boused up the soldier ere the morning star ; 
While thronged the citizens with terror dumb. 
Or whispering, with white lips — ^' The foe ! they come ! they 
come !'' 

And wild and high the ^' Cameron's gathering" rose ! 

The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills 
Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes : — 

How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills. 

Savage and shrill ! But with the breath which fills 
Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers 

With the fierce native daring, which instils 
The stirring memory of a thousand years, 
And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears? 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 263 

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, 

Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass, 
Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, 

Over the unreturning brave, — alas ! 

Ere evening to be trodden like the grass 
Which now beneath them, but above shall grow 

In its next verdure, when this fiery mass 
Of living valor, rolling on the foe 
And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low. 

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, 

Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, 
The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife. 

The morn, the marshalling in arms, — the day, 

Battle's magnificently-stern array ! 
The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent 

The earth is covered thick with other clay. 
Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, 
Kider and horse, — friend, foe, — in one red burial blent ! 



THE SEVEN AGES OF iLliV.— Shakspeare. 

All the world ^s a stage. 
And all the men and women merely players j 
They have their exits and their entrances. 
And one man in his time plays many parts, 
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, 
Mewling and puking in his nurse's arms : 
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel 
And shining morning-face, creeping like snail 
Unwillingly to school. And then, the lover, 
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad 
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then, the soldier, 
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard. 
Jealous in honor, sudden, and quick in quarrel. 



264 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Seeking the bubble reputation 

Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, 

In fair round belly with good capon lined, 

With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, 

Full of wise saws and modern instances; 

And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts 

Into the lean and slippered pantaloon, 

With spectacles on nose and pouch on side; 

His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide 

For his shrunk shank ; and his big manly voice. 

Turning again towards childish treble, pipes 

And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, 

That ends this strange, eventful history. 

Is second childishness, and mere oblivion : 

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. 



LINES ON A SKELETON 



The following poem appeared in The London Morning Chronicle, about 
fifty years since — anonymous. A reward of fifty guineas failed to dis- 
cover the author, and its authorship has never been ascertained. We 
believe the whole of it is comprised in the five stanzas. 

Behold this ruin ! ^Twas a skull 
Once of ethereal spirit full ; 
This narrow cell was life's retreat ; 
This space was thought's mysterious seat. 
What beauteous visions filled this spot; 
What dreams of pleasure long forgot ! 
Nor hope, nor love, nor joy, nor fear, 
Has left one trace of record here. 

Beneath this mouldering canopy 
Once shone the bright and busy eye. 
But start not at the dismal void, 
Nor sigh for greatness thus destroyed. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 265 

If with no lawless fire it gleamed, 
But through the dews of kindness beamed^ 
That eye shall be for ever bright, 
When stars and suns are sunk in night. 

Within this hollow cavern hung 

The ready, swift, and tuneful tongue. 

If falsehood's honey it disdained, 

And where it could not praise was chained; 

If bold in virtue's cause it spoke, 

Yet gentle concord never broke ; 

This silent tongue shall plead for thee 

When time unveils eternity. 

Say, did these fingers delve the mine, 
Or with its envied rubies shine ? 
To hew the rock or wear the gem, 
Can little now avail to them ; 
But if the page of truth they sought, 
Or comfort to the mourner brought. 
These hands a richer meed shall claim 
Than all that wait on wealth or fame. 

Avails it whether bare or shod 
These feet the paths of duty trod ? 
If from the bowers of ease they fled. 
To seek affliction's humble shed; 
If grandeur's guilty bribe they spurned, 
And home to virtue's cot returned ; 
These feet with angels' wings shall vie, 
And tread the palace of the sky. 



NO SECTS IN HEAVEN— Cleveland. 

Talking of sects till late one eve, 
Of the various doctrines the saints believe. 
That night I stood, in a troubled dream, 
By the side of a darkly flowing stream. 
23 



266 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

And a " Cliurchman'^ down to tlie river came; 
When I heard a strange voice call his name, 
" Good father, stop; when you cross this tide. 
You must leave your robes on the other side/' 

But the aged father did not mind ; 
And his long gown floated out behind, 
As down to the stream his way he took, 
His pale hands clasping a gilt-edged book. 

^' I'm bound for Heaven ; and when I'm there, 
Shall want my Book of Common Prayer ; 
And, though I put on a starry crown, 
I should feel quite lost without my gown." 

Then he fixed his eyes on the shining track. 
But his gown was heavy and held him back. 
And the poor old father tried in vain, 
A single step in the flood to gain. 

I saw him again on the other side, 
But his silk gown floated on the tide ; 
And no one asked, in that blissful spot. 
Whether he belonged to the '^ Church" or not. , 

Then down to the river a Quaker strayed; 
His dress of a sober hue was made : 
" My coat and hat must all be gray — 
I cannot go any other way." 

Then he buttoned his coat straight up to his chin, 
And staidly, solemnly, waded in. 
And his broad-brimmed hat he pulled down tight. 
Over his forehead so cold and white. 

But a strong wind carried away his hat ; 
, A moment he silently sighed over that ; 
And then, as he gazed to the further shore. 
The coat slipped off*, and was seen no more. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 267 

As he entered Heaven his suit of gray 
Went quietly sailing, away, away ; 
And none of the angels questioned him 
About the width of his beaver's brim. 

Next came Dr. Watts, with a bundle of psalms 

Tied nicely up in his aged arms, 

And hymns as many, a very wise thing, 

That the people in Heaven, •• all round/^ might sing. 

But I thought that he heaved an anxious sigh, 
And he saw^that the river ran broad and high, 
And looked rather surprised, as one by one 
His psalms and hymns in the wave went down. 

And after him. with his MSS., 

Came Wesley, the pattern of godliness ; 

But he cried, •• Dear me I what shall I do ? 

The water has soaked them through and through/^ 

And there on the river far and wide. 
Away they went down the swollen tide ; 
And the saint, astonished, passed through alone, 
Without his manuscripts, up to the throne. 

Then, gravely walking, two saints by name 
Down to the stream together came ; 
But, as they stopped at the river's brink, 
I saw one saint from the other shrink. 

'•' Sprinkled or plunged ? may I ask you, friend, 
How you attained to life's great end V^ 
" Thiis^ with a few drops on my brow.^' 
''But /have been dipped, as you ^11 see me now, 

" And I really think it will hardly do, 
As I^m ' close communion,^ to cross with you; 
You're bound, I know, to the realms of bliss, 
But you must go that way, and I'll go this.'" 



268 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Then straightway phmging with all his might, 
Away to the left — his friend to the right, 
Apart they went from this world of sin. 
But at last together they entered in. 

And now, when the river was rolling on, 

A Presbyterian Church went down j 

Of women there seemed an innumerable throng. 

But the men I could count as they passed along. 

And concerning the road, they could never agree 
The old or the new way, which it could be* 
Nor ever a moment paused to think 
That both would lead to the river's brink. 

And a sound of murmuring, long and loud, 

Came ever up from the moving crowd ; 

^' You 're in the old way, and I 'm in the new; 

That is the false, and this is the true" — 

Or, "I'm in the old way, and you're in the new; 

That is the false, and this is the true.'^ 

But the hrethren only seemed to speak : 
Modest the sisters walked and meek. 
And if ever one of them chanced to say 
What troubles she met with on the way, 
How she longed to pass to the other side. 
Nor feared to cross over the swelling tide, 
A voice arose from the brethren then, 
" Let no one speak but the ' holy men ;' 
For have ye not heard the words of Paul, 
* Oh, let the women keep silence all V '' 

I watched them long in my curious dream. 
Till they stood by the borders of the stream ; 
Then, just as I thought, the two ways met; 
But all the brethren were talking yet. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 269 

And would talk on till the heaving tide 
Carried them over side by side — 
Side by side, for the way was one ; 
The toilsome journey of life was done; 
And all who in Christ the Saviour died, 
Came out alike on the other side. 

No forms or crosses or books had they; 
No gowns of silk or suits of gray; 
No creeds to guide them, or MSS. ; 
For all had put on Christ's righteousness. 



THE FIRUMAN.—CoNRAj). 



The city slumbers ; o'er its silent walls 
Night's dusky mantle soft and silent falls ; 
Sleep o'er the world slow waves its wand of lead, 
And ready torpors wrap each sinking head. 
Still is the stir of labor and of life, 
Hushed is the hum, and tranquillized the strife — 
Man is at rest/ with all his hopes and fears, 
The young forget their sport, the old their cares. 
The grave or careless, those who joy or weep, 
All rest contented on the arm of sleep. 
Sweet is the pillowed rest of beauty now, 
And slumber smiles upon her tranquil brow. 
Bright are her dreams — yes, bright as heaven's own blue, 
Pure as its joys, and gentle as its dew. 
They lead her forth along the moonlit tide. 
Her heart's own partner wandering by her side ; — 
'T is summer's eve — the soft gales scarcely rouse 
The low-voiced ripple and the rustling boughs — 
And, faint and far, some melting minstrel's tone 
Breathes to her heart a music like its own — 
When, hark 1 — oh, horror ! — what a crash is there ! 
What shriek is that which fills the midnight air ? 
23^ 



270 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

^Tis fire ! ^tis fire I She wakes to dream no more — 
The hot blast rushes through the blazing door ; 
The room is dimmed with smoke — and hark I that cry ! — 
. " Help I help ! — will no one aid ? I die — I die V 

She seeks the casement, shuddering at its height — 

She turns again — the fierce flames mock her flight. 

Along the crackling stairs they wildly play 

And roar, exulting, as they seize their prey. 

" Help ! — help I — will no one come V She can no more. 

But pale and breathless, sinks upon the floor. 

Will no one save thee ? Yes, there is yet one 

Remains to save when hope itself is gone; 

When all have fled — when all but he would fly, 

The Fireman comes to rescue, or to die ! 

He mounts the stair — it wavers ^neath his tread — 

He seeks the room, flames flashing round his head. 

He bursts the door — he lifts her prostrate frame, 

And turns a^-ain to brave the raoins: flame. 

The fire-blast smites him with its stifling breath, 

The falling timbers menace him with death. 

And sinking floors his hurried steps betray, 

And ruin crushes round his desperate way. 

Hot smoke obscures, ten thousand cinders rise, 

Yet still he staggers forward with his prize. 

He leaps from burning stair to stair — on, on ! 

Courage I — one efi"ort more, and all is won. 

The stair is passed — the blazing hall is braved ; 

Still on ! — yet on I — once more. Thank Heaven, she ^s saved ! 

The hardy seaman pants the storm to brave. 
For beckoning fortune wooes him from the wave ; 
The soldier battles ^neath the smoky cloud, 
For glory's bow is painted on the shroud ; 
The firemen also dare each shape of death, 
But not for fortune's gold, or glory's wreath ; 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKEK. 271 

No selfish throbs within their breasts are known — 
No hope of praise or profit cheers them on ; 
They ask no meed, no fame, and only seek 
To shield the suffering and protect the weak. 
For this the howling midnight storm they woo — 
For this the raging flames rush fearless through — 
Mount the frail rafter, head the smoky hall, 
Or toil, unshrinking, ^neath the tottering wall ; 
Nobler than those who with fraternal blood 
Dye the dread field, or tinge the shuddering flood. 
O^er their firm ranks no crimson banners wave ', 
They dare, they suffer — not to slay, but save. 
At such a sight Hope smiles more heavenly bright — 
Pale, pensive Pity trembles with delight ; 
And soft-eyed Mercy, stooping from above, 
Drops a bright tear — a tear of joy and love. 
And should the fireman, generous, true, and brave, 
Fall as he toils the weak to shield and save ? 
Shall no kind friend, no ministering hand, be found 
To pour the balm of comfort in his wound ? 
Or, should he perish, shall his orphans say 
" He died for them — but what for us do they V 
Say, is it thus we should his toils requite ? 
Forbid it, justice, gratitude, and right! 
Forbid it, ye who dread what he endures ; 
Forbid it, ye whose slumbers he secures ! 
Forbid it, ye whose hoard he toils to save ! 
Forbid it, all ye generous, just, and brave ! 
And, above all, be you his friend, ye fair, 
For you were ever his especial care ; 
Grive to his cause your smiles, your gentle aid — 
The Fireman's wounds are healed — the orphan^s tears are 
stayed. 



272 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

THE REVOLUTIONARY RISING.— "Read. 

Out of the North the wild news came, 
Far flashing on its wings of flame, 
Swift as the boreal light which flies 
At midnight through the startled skies. 
And there was tumult in the air. 

The fife's shrill note, the drum's loud beat, 
And through the wide land everywhere 

The answering tread of hurrying feet; 
While the first oath of Freedom^ s gun 
Came on the blast from Lexington ; 
And Concord roused, no longer tame, 
Forgot her old baptismal name, 
Made bare her patriot arm of power, 
And swelled the discord of the hour. 

Within its shade of elm and oak 

The church of Berkley Manor stood; 
There Sunday found the rural folk, 

And some esteemed of gentle blood. 

In vain their feet with loitering tread 
Passed mid the graves where rank is nought ; 
All could not read the lesson taught 

In that republic of the dead. 

How sweet the hour of Sabbath talk. 
The vale with peace and sunshine full. 

Where all the happy people walk, 

Decked in their homespun flax and wool. 
Where youth's gay hats with blossoms bloom ; 

And every maid, with simple art, 

Wears on her breast, like her own heart, 
A bud whose depths are all perfume ; 

While every garment's gentle stir 

Is breathing rose and lavender. 

The pastor came ; his snowy locks 

Hallowed his brow of thought and care; 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 273 

And calm, as shepherds lead their flocks, 

He led into the house of prayer. 
Then soon he rose; the prayer was strong; 
The Psalm was warrior David's song; 
The text a few short words of misrht — 
" The Lord of hosts shall ar^ni the right F' 
He spoke of wrongs too long endured, 
Of sacred rights to be secured; 
Then from his patriot tongue of flame 
The startling words for Freedom came. 
The stirring sentences he spake 
Compelled the heart to glow or quake. 
And, rising on his theme's broad wing. 

And grasping in his nervous hand 

The imaginary battle-brand. 
In face of death he dared to fling 
Defiance to a tyrant king. 

Even as he spoke, his frame, renewed 
In eloquence of attitude, 
Eose, as it seemed, a shoulder higher; 
Then swept his kindling glance of fire 
From startled pew to breathless choir ; 
When suddeuly his mantle wide 
His hands impatient flung aside. 
And, lo ! he met their wondering eyes 
Complete in all a warrior^s guise. 

A moment there was awful pause — 

When Berkley cried, '^ Cease, traitor! cease! 

God's temple is the house of peace T' 

The other shouted, ^' Nay, not so, 
When G-od is with our righteous cause; 
His holiest places then are ours. 
His temples are our forts and towers 

That frown upon the tyrant foe; 
In this, the dawn of Freedom's day, 
There is a time to fight and pray V^ 
s 



274 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

And now before the open door — 

The warrior priest had ordered so — 
The enlisting trumpet's sudden roar 
Eang through the chapel, o'er and o'er, 

Its long reverberating blow, 
So loud and clear, it seemed the ear 
Of dusty death must wake and hear. 

And there the startling drum and fife 
Fired the living with fiercer life ; 
While overhead, with wild increase, 
Forgetting its ancient toll of peace, 

The great bell swung as ne'er before. 
It seemed as it would never cease ; 
And every word its ardor flung 
From ofi* its jubilant iron tongue 

Was, " War ! War ! WAR !" 

" Who dares ?" — this was the patriot's cry, 
As striding from the desk he came — 
^' Come out with me, in Freedom's name, 
For her to live, for her to die ?" 
A hundred hands flung up reply, 
A hundred voices answered, " I V^ 



THE FISHERMAN'S SONG. 
[This spirited lyric appeared anonymously in an old Irish magazine.] 

Away — away o'er the feathery crest 

Of the beautiful blue are we : 
For our toil-lot lies on its boiling breast, 

And our wealth 's in the glorious sea : 
And we 've hymned in the grasp of the fiercest night, 

To the god of the sons of toil, 
As we cleft the wave by its own white light, 

And away with its scaly spoil. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 275 

Then oh for the long and the strong oar-sweep 

We have given, and will again ; 
For when children's weal lies in the deep, 

Oh ! their fathers must be men. 

And we ^11 think, as the blast grows loud and long, 

That we hear our offspring's cries — 
And we '11 think, as the surge grows tall and strong, 

Of the tears in their mothers' eyes : 
And we '11 reel through the clutch of the shivering green, 

For the warm, warm clasp at home — 
For the soothing smile of each heart's own queen, 
And her arms, like the flying foam. 

Then oh for the long and strong oar-sweep 

We have given, and will again ; 
For when children's weal lies in the deep, 
Oh ! their fathers mws^ be men. 

Do we yearn for the land when tossed on this ? 

Let it ring to the proud one's tread : 
Far worse than the waters and winds may hiss 

Where the poor man gleans his bread. 
If the adder-tongue of the upstart knave 

Can bleed what it may not bend, 
'T were better to battle the wildest wave. 
That the spirit of storms could send, 

Than be singing farewell to the bold oar-sweep 

We have given, and will again ; 
If our souls should bow to the savage deep, 
Oh ! they ^11 never to savage men. 

And if death, at times, through a foamy cloud. 

On the brown-browed boatman glares. 
He can pay him his glance with a soul as proud 

As the form of a mortal bears ; 
And oh 'twere glorious, sure, to die, 

In our toils for some on shore, 



276 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

With a hopeful eye fixed calm on the sky. 
And a hand on the broken oar. 

Then oh, for a long, strong, steady sweep; 

Hold to it — hurrah — dash on : 
If our babes must fast till we rob the deep, 
'Tis time that we had begun. 



''LOOK NOT UPON THE WINE WHEN IT IS BED." 

Willis. 

Look not upon the wine when it 

Is red within the cup ; 
Stay not for pleasure when she fills 

Her tempting beaker up ; 
Though clear its depths, and rich its glow, 
A spell of madness lurks below. 

They say ^t is pleasant on the lip. 

And merry on the brain ; 
They say it stirs the sluggish blood, 

And dulls the tooth of pain : 
Ay, but within its gloomy deeps 
A stinging serpent unseen sleeps. 

Its rosy lights will turn to fire. 

Its coolness change to thirst; 
And by its mirth within the brim 

A sleepless worm is nursed. 
There ^s not a bubble at the brim 
That does not carry food to him. 

Then dash the burning cup aside 

And spill its purple wine ; 
Take not its madness to thy lips — 

Let not its curse be thine. 
'Tis red and rich, but grief and woe 
Are hid those rosy depths below. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 277 



ICARUS; OR, THE PERIL OF BORROWED PLUMES, 
Saxe. 

There lived and flourislied long ago, in famous Atlienstown, 
One Dsedalus^ a carpenter of genius and renown ; 
(^Twas he who with an auger taught mechanics how to tore — 
An art which the philosophers monopolized before.) 

His only son was Icarus^ a most precocious lad, — 

The pride of Mrs. Dsedalus, the image of his dad ; 

And while he yet was in his teens such progress he had made, 

He ^d got above his father's size^ and much above his trade. 

Now Dsedalus^ the carpenter, had made a pair of wings. 
Contrived of wood and feathers and a cunning set of springs, 
By means of which the wearer could ascend to any height. 
And sail about among the clouds as easy as a kite ! 

^' Oh, father, ^^ said young Icarus^ '^ how I should like to fly ! 
And go like you where all is blue along the upper sky; 
How very charming it would be above the moon to climb, 
And scamper through the Zodiac, and have a high old time ! 

*' Oh, would n't it be jolly, though, — to stop at all the inns ; 
To take a luncheon at ' The Crab,' and tipple at ' The Twins / 
And, just for fun and fancy, while careering through the air, 
To kiss the Virgin^ tease the Rarriy and bait the biggest Bear? 

" Oh, father, please to let me go V^ was still the urchin's cry; 
^•ni be extremely careful, sir^ and won't go very high; 
Oh, if this little pleasure-trip you only will allow, 
I promise to be back again in time to fetch the cow !'' 

'' You 're rather young," said Dsedalus, " to tempt the upper air; 
But take the wings, and mind your eye with very special care ; 
And keep at least a thousand miles below the nearest star — 
Young lads, when out upon a lark, are apt to go too far T^ 
24 



278 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

He took the wings — that foolish boy — without the least dismay, 
(His father stuck 'em on with wax), and so he soared away; 
Up — up he rises, like a bird, and not a moment stops 
Until he 's fairly out of sight, beyond the mountain-tops ! 

And still he flies — away — away ; it seems the merest fun ; 

No marvel he is getting bold, and aiming at the sun ; 

No marvel he forgets his sire ; it is n't very odd 

That one so far above the earth should think himself a god ! 

Already, in his silly pride, he ^s gone too far aloft; 
The heat begins to scorch his wings ; the wax is waxing soft ; 
Down — down he goes ! Alas ! next day poor Icarus was found 
Afloat upon the ^gean sea, extremely damp and drowned ! 

The moral of this mournful tale is plain enough to all : — 
Don't get above your proper sphere, or you may chance to fall; 
Remember, too, that borrowed plumes are most uncertain things; 
And never try to scale the sky with other people's wings ! 



YU MAY DRINK, IF YE LIST.^Fease. 

Ye may drink, if ye list, 

The red sparkling wine, 
From beakers that gleam 

With the gems of the vine ; 
Ye may quafi*, if ye will. 

When the foam bends the brim, 
From a flagon or goblet, 

Till your eye shall grow dim; 
But I 've sworn on the altar, 

And ray soul is now free. 
Nor beaker, nor flagon^ 

Nor goblet for me. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 279 

Ye may light the avenger 

On ruin's wild path, 
Like a raging volcano, 

In the blaze of its wrath ; 
But your fire-crested waves, 

All gory with blood, 
Shall be hissing like serpents, 

And quenched in the flood j 
For I '\e sworn on the altar, 

And my soul i& now free, 
This hand shall ne'er falter 

In its warfare with thee. 

But Nature's pure nectar 

Is the draught that I sip, — 
What.Grod has appointed 

To moisten the lip ; 
And the gleam of its glory. 

Through the cycles of years, 
Shall dry the rivers of shame, 

And the fountains of t^ars; 
For I 've sworn on the altar, 

In youth's radiant glow, 
Not to lay down my arms 

Till I 've conquered the foe. 

Then eome to the altar, 

And come to the shrine, 
Dash down your red goblets, 

And your flagons of wine; 
Young heroes are thronging 

Where the battle 's begun, 
And the sheen of their banners 

Flashes bright in the sun. 
When the shock of the onset, 

As a rock meets the flood, 
Shall roll back the fountains 

And rivers of blood. 



280 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

THE DEACON'S MASTEEPIECE.— Holmes. 

A LOGICAL STORY. 

Have yon heard of the wonderful ooe-hoss shay, 
That was built in such a logical way, 
It ran a hundred years to a day, 

And then, of a sudden, it Ah, but stay, 

I '11 tell you what happened without delay, 
Scaring the parson into fits, 
Frightening people out of their wits, 
Have you ever heard of that, I say ? 

Seventeen hundred and fifty-five. 
Georgius Secundus was then alive, — 
Snufiy old drone from the German hive. 
That was the year when Lisbontown 
Saw the earth open and gulp her down, 
And Braddock's army was done so brown, 
Left without a scalp to its crown. 
It was on the terrible Earthquake-day 
That the Deacon finished the one-hoss shay- 

Now in building of chaises, I tell you what, 

There is always someiuhere a weakest spot, — 

In hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill. 

In panel, or cross-bar, or floor, or sill, 

In screw, bolt, thorough-brace, — lurking still 

Find it somewhere you must and will, — 

Above or below, or within or without, — 

And that's the reason, beyond a doubt, 

A chaise breaks down, but doesn't wear out 

But the Deacon sicore (as Deacons do, 

With an "I dew vum," or an -^ I tell yeou^') 

He would build one shay to beat the taown 

^N' the keounty 'n' all the kentry raoun' ) 

It should be so built that it couldnt break daown : 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 281 

*' Fur/^ said the Deacon, " ^t's mighty plain 
Thut the weakes' place must stan' the strain ; 
^N' the way t' fix it, uz I maintain, 

Is only jest 
T^ make that place uz strong uz the rest/' 

So the Deacon inquired of the village folk 

Where he could find the strongest oak, 

That couldn't be split nor bent nor broke, — 

That was for spokes and floor and sills ; 

He sent for lancewood to make the thills ; 

The crossbars were ash, from the straightest trees; 

The panels of white-wood, that cuts like cheese. 

But lasts like iron for things like these ; 

The hubs of logs from the " Setler's ellum^^, — • 

Last of its timber — they couldn't sell 'em. 

Never an axe had seen their chips, 

And the wedges flew from between their lips, 

Their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips ; 

Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw. 

Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin too, 

Steel of the finest, bright and blue ; 

Thoroughbrace bison-skin, thick and wide; 

Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide 

Found in the pit where the tanner died. 

That was the way he '^ put her through/' — 

'' There!" said the Deacon, " naow she'll dew." 

Do ! I tell you, I rather guess 

She was a wonder, and nothing less I 

Colts grew horses, beards turned gray^ 

Deacon and deaconess dropped away. 

Children and grandchildren — where were they? 

But there stood the stout old one-hoss shay, 

As fresh as on Lisbon-earthquake-day ! 

Eighteen Hundred; — it came and found 
The Deacon's Masterpiece strong and sound. 
24^ 



282 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Eighteen hundred increased by ten ; 

'' Hahnsum kerridge" they called it then. 

Eighteen hundred and twenty came; — 

Running as usual; much the same. 

Thirty and forty at last arrive, 

And then came fifty, and Fifty-fiye. 

Little of all we value here 

Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year 

Without both feeling and looking queer. 

In fact, there ^s nothing that keeps its youth, 

So far as I know, but a tree and truth. 

(This is a moral that runs at large ; 

Take it. — You're welcome. — No extra charge.) 

First of November, — the Earthquake-day. — 
There are traces of age in the one-hoss shay, 
A general flavor of mild decay, — 
But nothing local, as one may say. 
There couldn't be, — for the Deacon's art 
Had made it so like in every part 
That there wasn't a chance for one to start. 
For the wheels were just as strong as the thills, 
And the floor was just as strong as the sills. 
And the panels just as strong as the floor, 
And the whippletree neither less nor more. 
And the back crossbar as strong as the fore, 
And spring and axle and hub encore. 
And yet, as a whole^ it is past a doubt 
In another hour it will be worn out ! 

First of November, 'Fifty-five ! 

This morning the parson takes a drive. 

Now, small boys, get out of the way ! 

Here comes the wonderful one-hoss shay, 

Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay. 

^^ Hud up I" said the parson. — Ofi" went they. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 283 

The parson was working his Sunday text, — 

Had got to fifthly^ and stopped perplexed 

At what the — Moses — was coming next. 

All at once the horse stood still. 

Close by the meet'n'-house on the hill. 

— First a shiver, and then a thrill, 

Then something decidedly like a spill, — 

And the parson was sitting upon a rock, 

At half-past nine by the meet'n^-house clock, — 

Just the hour of the earthquake shock ! 

What do you think the parson found, 

When he got up and stared around ? 

The poor old chaise in a heap or mound, 

As if it had been to the mill and ground 1 

You see, of course, if you ^re not a dunce, 

How it went to pieces all at once, — 

All at once, and nothing first,— 

Just as bubbles do when they burst. — 

End of the wonderful one-hoss shay. 

Logic IS logic. That 's all I say. 



NOTHING BUT LEAVES, 

Nothing but leaves ; the spirit grieves 

Over a wasted life ; 
Sin committed while conscience slept. 
Promises made but never kept, 
, Hatred, battle, and strife; 
Nothing hut leaves ! 

Nothing but leaves ; no garnered sheaves 
Of live's fair, ripened grain ; 

Words, idle words, for earnest deeds ; 

We sow our seeds — lo ! tares and weeds; 
We reap with toil and pain 
Nothing hut leaves ! 



284 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

NotliiDg but leaves ; memory weaves 

No veil to screen the past : 
As we retrace our weary way, 
Counting each lost and misspent day — 
We find, sadly, at last, 
Nothing hut leaves! 

And shall we meet the Master so, 

Bearing our withered leaves? 
The Saviour looks for perfect fruit, — 
We stand before him, humbled, mute; 
Waiting the words he breathes, — 
*^ Nothing hut leaves T^ "^ 



TEE TILLAGE SCEOOLMASTER.—(}oj.mnvm. 

Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, 
With blossomed furze unprofitably gay. 
There, in his noisy mansion skilled to rule, 
The village master taught his little school. 
A man severe he was, and stern to view; 
I knew him well, and every truant knew : 
Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace 
The day's disasters in his morning face ; 
Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee, 
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he; 
Full well the busy whisper, circling round. 
Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned. 
Yet he was kind, or if severe in aught, 
The love he bore to learning was his fault. 
The village all declared how much he knew; 
^T was certain he could write and cipher too ; 



* He found nothing thereon but leaves. — Matt. chap. xxi. v. 19. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 285 

Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, 

And e'en the story ran — that he could gauge : 

In arguing, too, the parson owned his skill, 

For e'en though vanquished he could argue still ; 

While words of learned length, and thundering sound. 

Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around ; 

And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew, 

That one small head could carry all he knew. 

But past is all his fame. The very spot 

Where many a time he triumphed is forgot. 



KEEP IT BEFORE THE PEOPLE,— Dug a^i^e. 

Keep it before the people ! 

That Earth was made for Man ! 

That flowers were strown, 

And fruits were grown. 
To bless, and never to ban — 

That sun and rain. 

And corn and o^rain, 
Are yours and mine, my brother ! 

Free gifts from heaven. 

And freely given 
To one as well as another ! 

Keep it before the people ! 

That man is the image of Grod ! 

His limbs or soul 

Ye may not control 
With shackle or shame or rod ! 

We may not be sold 

For silver or gold. 
Neither you nor I, my brother ! 

For Freedom was given 

By Grod, from heaven, 
To one as well as another ! 



286 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Keep it before the people ! 

That famine and crime and woe 

For ever abide, 

Still side by side 
With luxury's dazzling show ! 

That Lazarus crawls 

From Dives' halls, 
And starves at his gate, my brother ! 

Yet life was given 

By Grod, from heaven, 
To one as well as another ! 

Keep it before the people ! 

That the poor man claims his meed — 

The right of soil, 

And the right of toil, 
From spur and bridle freed ! 

The right to bear, 

And the right to share, 
With you and me, my brother ! 

Whatever is given 

By God, from heaven. 
To one as well as another ! 



LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHER S.-^U^UKm. 

The breaking waves dashed high 

On the stern and rock-bound coast, 
And the woods against a stormy sky 

Their giant branches tossed ; 

And the heavy night hung dark 

The hills and waters o'er. 
When a band of exiles moored their bark 

On the wild New England shore. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 28.7 

Not as the conqueror comes, 

They, the true-hearted, carae ; 
Not with the roll of the stirring drums, 

And the trumpet that sings of fame : 

Not as the flying come. 

In silence and in fear ; 
They shook the depth of the desert's gloom 

With their hymns of lofty cheer. 

Amid the storm they sang, 

And the stars heard, and. the sea; 
And the soundino^ aisles of the dim woods rang: 

To the anthem of the free. 

The ocean eagle soared 

From his nest by the white wave's foam, 
And the rocking pines of the forest roared : 

This was their welcome home. 

There were men with hoary hair 

Amid that pilgrim band. 
Why have they come to wither there, 

Away from their childhood's land ? 

There was woman's fearless eye, 

Lit by her deep love's truth ; 
There was manhood's brow, serenely high, 

And the fiery heart of youth. 

What sought they thus, afar ? 

Bright jewels of the mine ? 
The wealth of seas, the spoils of war ? 

They sought a faith's pure shrine ! 

Ay, call it holy ground. 

The soil where first they trod ! 
They have left unstained what there they found — 

Freedom to worship God ! 



288 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

LAB OB IS WORSHIP.— Osgood. 

Pause not to dream of the future before us ; 
Pause not to weep the wild cares that come o'er us; 
Hark, how Creation's deep, musical chorus, 

Uniotermitting, goes up into heaven ! 
Never the ocean wave falters in flowing ; 
Never the little seed stops in its growing; 
More and more richly the rose-heart keeps glowing, 

Till from its nourishing stem it is riven. 

^^ Labor is worship V^ — the robin is singing; 
" Labor is worship !'' — the wild bee is ringing : 
Listen ! that eloquent whisper upspringing 

Speaks to thy soul from out Nature's great heart. 
From the dark cloud flows the life-giving shower ; 
From the rough sod blows the soft-breathing flower ; 
From the small insect, the rich coral bower ; 

Only man, in the plan, shrinks from his part. 

Labor is life ! 'T is the still water faileth ; 

Idleness ever despaireth, bewaileth ; 

Keep the watch wound, for the dark rust assaileth; 

Flowers droop and die in the stillness of noon. 
Labor is glory ! — the flying cloud lightens ; 
Only the waving wing changes and brightens ; 
Idle hearts only the dark future frightens ; 

Play the sweet keys, wouldst thou keep them in tune I 

Labor is rest from the sorrows that greet us, 
Rest from all petty vexations that meet us, 
Rest from sin-promptings that ever entreat us, 

Rest from world-sirens that lure us to ill. 
Work — and pure slumbers shall wait on thy pillow ; 
Work — thou shalt ride over Care's coming billow ; 
Lie not down wearied 'neath Woe's weeping-willow; 

Work with a stout heart and resolute will ! 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 289 

Labor is health ! Lo ! the husbandman reaping, 
How through his veins goes the life current leaping, 
How his strong arm, in its stalwart pride sweeping, 

True as a sunbeam, the swift sickle guides ! 
Labor is wealth — in the sea the pearl groweth; 
Rich the queen^s robe from the frail cocoon floweth; 
From the fine acorn the strong forest bloweth ; 

Temple and statue the marble block hides. 

Droop not, though shame, sin, and anguish are around thee ! 
Bravely fling off the cold chain that hath bound thee ! 
Look to yon pure heaven smiling beyond thee ! 

Rest not content in thy darkness — a clod ! 
Work — for some good, be it ever so slowly ; 
Cherish some flower, be it ever so lowly ; 
Labor ! — all labor is noble and holy ^ 

Let thy great deeds be thy prayer to thy God ! 



TEE STUDENT. 

" Poor fool V^ the base and soulless worldling cries, 
^' To waste his strength for nought, — to blanch his cheek, 
And bring pale Death upon him in his prime. 
Why did he not to pleasure give his days, — 
His nights to rest, — and live while live he might ?" 
What is^t to live ? To breathe the vital air, 
Consume the fruits of earth, and doze away 
Existence? Never ! this is living death, — 
^Tis brutish life, — base grovelling. E'en the brutes 
Of nobler nature, live not lives like this. 
Shall man, then, formed to be creation^s lord, 
Stamped with the impress of Divinity, and sealed 
With God^s own signet, sink below the brute ? 
Forbid it, Heaven ! it cannot, must not be ! 
25 T 



r 



290 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Oh ! wlien the mighty God from nothing brought 
This universe, — when at His word the light 
Burst forth, — the sun was set in heaven,— 
And earth was clothed in beauty ; when the last, 
The noble work of all, from dust He framed 
Our bodies in His image, — when he placed 
Within its temple-shrine of clay, the soul, — 
The immortal soul, — infused by His own truth, 
Did He not show, ^tis this which gives to man 
His high prerogative ? Why then declare 
That he who thinks less of his worthless frame, 
And lives a spirit, even in this world, 
Lives not as well, — lives not as long, as he 
Who drags out years of life, without one thought, — 
One hope, — one wish beyond the present hour ? 

How shall we measure life ? Not by the years, — 

The months, — the days, — the moments that we pass 

On earth. By him whose soul is raised above 

Base worldly things, — whose heart is fixed in heaven- 

His life is measured by that soul's advance, — 

Its cleansing from pollution and from sin, — 

The enlargement of its powers, — the expanded field 

Wherein it ranges, — till it glows and burns 

With holy joys, — with high and heavenly hopes. 

When in the silent night, all earth lies hushed 
In slumber, — when the glorious stars shine out, 
Each star a sun, — each sun a central light 
Of some fair system, ever wheeling on 
In one unbroken round, — -and that again 
Revolving round another sun, — while all 
Suns, stars, and systems, proudly roll along, 
In one majestic, ever-onward course, 
In space uncircumscribed and limitless, — 
Oh ! think you then the undebased soul 
Can calmly give itself to sleep, — to rest ? 



^: 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 291 

No I in tlie solemn stillness of the night, 
It soars from earth, — it dwells in angels' homes, — 
It hears the burning song, — the glowing chant, 
That fills the sky-girt vaults of heaven with joy ! 
It pants, it sighsj to wing its flight from earth, 
To join the heavenly choirs, and be with Grod. 

And it is joy to muse the written page, 
Whereon are stamped the gushings of the soul 
Of genius ; — where, in never-dying light. 
It glows and flashes as the lightning's glare; 
Or where it burns with ray more mild, — more sure. 
And wins the soul, that half would turn away 
From its more brilliant flashings. These are hours 
Of holy joy, — of bliss^ so pure, that earth 
May hardly claim it. Let his lamp grow dim, 
And flicker to extinction ; let his cheek 
Be pale as sculptured marble, — and his eye 
Lose its bright lustre, — till his shrouded frame 
Is laid in dust. Himself can never die ! 

His years, 'tis true, are few, — his life is long ; 
For he has gathered many a precious gem ; 
Enraptured, he has dwelt where master minds 
Have poured their own deep musings, — and his heart 
Has glowed with love to Him who framed us thus, — 
Who placed within this worthless tegument 
The spark of pure Divinity, which shines 
With light unceasing. 

Yes, his life is long, — 

Long to the dull and loathsome epicures, — 

Long to the slothful man's — the grovelling herds 

Who scarcely know they have a soul within^ — 

Long to all those who, creeping on to death. 

Meet in the grave, the earth-worm's banquet-haTl, — 

And leave behind no moniimants for ^ood. 



292 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

THE CHILDREN, 

When the lessons and tasks are all ended, 

And the school for the day is dismissed, 
And the little ones gather around me, 

To bid me good night and be kissed : 
Oh, the little white arms that encircle 

My neck in a tender embrace ! 
Oh, the smiles that are halos of heaven, 

Shedding sunshine of love on my face ! 

And when they are gone I sit dreaming 

Of my childhood, too lovely to last : 
Of love that my heart will remember 

When it wakes to the pulse of the past, 
Ere the world and its wickedness made me 

A partner of sorrow and sin ; 
When the glory of God was about me, 

And the glory of gladness within. 

Oh ! my heart grows as weak as a woman's, 

And the fountains of feeling will flow. 
When I think of paths steep and stony. 

Where the feet of the dear ones must go ; 
Of the mountains of sin hanging o'er them, 

Of the tempest of fate blowing wild ; 
Oh ! there is nothing on earth half so holy 

As the innocent heart of a child. 

They are idols of hearts and of households : 

They are angels of God in disguise ; 
His sunlight still sleeps in their tresses, 

His glory still beams in their eyes. 
Oh ! those truants from home and from heaven, 

They have made me more manly and mild. 
And I know how Jesus could liken 

The kingdom of God to a child. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 293 

I ask not a life for the dear ones, 

All radiant, as others have done, 
But that life may have just enough shadow 

To temper the glare of the sun : 
I would pray God to guard them from evil. 

But my prayer would bound back to myself; 
Ah ! a seraph may pray for a sinner. 

But a sinner must pray for himself 

The twig is so easily bended, 

I have banished the rule and the rod; 
I have taught them the goodness of knowledge, 

They have taught me the goodness of God; 
My heart is a dungeon of darkness. 

Where I shut them from breaking a rule; 
My frown is sufficient correction ; 

My love is the law of the school. 

I shall leave the old home in the autumn, 

To traverse its threshold no more ; 
Ah ! how shall I sigh for the dear ones 

That meet me each morn at the door ! 
I shall miss the '' good-nights^^ and the kisses, 

And the gush of their innocent glee, 
The group on the green, and the flowers 

That are brought every morning to me. 

I shall miss them at morn and at eve, 

Their song in the school and the street ; 
I shall miss the low hum of their voices, 

And the tramp of their delicate feet. 
When the lessons and tasks are all ended, 

And death says, " The school is dismissed V 
May the little ones gather around me, 

To bid me good-night, and be kissed ! 



25* 



294 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

SHAMUS O'BRIEN.— Le Fanu. 

JiST afther the war, in the year ^98, 

As soon as the boys wor all scattered and bate, 

'Twas the custom, whenever a pisant was got, 

To hang them by thrial — barrin' sich as was shot. 

There was trial by jury goin' on by daylight, 

And the martial law hangin' the lavins by night. 

It 's them was hard times for an honest gossoon : 

If he missed in the judges^ he M meet a dragoon; 

An^ whether the sodgers or judges gev sentence. 

The divil a much time they allowed for repentance. 

An'* it 's many the fine boy was then on his keepin', 

Wid small share iv restin', or atin', or sleepin' ; 

An' because they loved Erin, and scorned to sell it, 

A prey for the bloodhound, a mark for the bullet — 

Unsheltered by night, and unrested by day. 

With the heath for their barrack, revenge for their pay; 

An' the bravest an' hardiest boy iv them all 

Was Shamus O'Brien, from the town iv Grlingall. 

His limbs were well set, an' his body was light, 

An' the keen-fanged hound had not teeth half so white ; 

But his face was as pale as the face of the dead, 

And his cheek never warmed with the blush of the red ; 

An' for all that he wasn't an ugly young b'y. 

For the divil himself couldn't blaze with his eye 

So droll an' so wicked, so dark and so bright. 

Like a fire-flash that crosses the depth of the night ! 

An' he was the best mower that ever has been, 

An' the illegantest hurler that ever was seen, 

An' his dancin' was sich that the men used to stare, 

An' the women turn crazy, he done it so quare ; 

An', by gorra, the whole world gev in to him there. 

An' it 's he was the boy that was hard to be caught, 

An' it 's often he run, an' it 's often he fought, 

An' it 's many the one can remember right well 

The quare things he done ; an' it 's often I heerd tell 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 295 

How lie lathered the yeomen, himself agin four, 

An' stretched the two strongest on old Galtimore. 

But the fox must sleep sometimes, the wild deer must rest, 

An^ treachery prey on the blood iv the best; 

Afther many a brave act of power and pride, 

An' many a hard night on the mountain's bleak side, 

An' a thousand great dangers and toils overpast. 

In the darkness of night he was taken at last. 

Now, Shamus, look back on the beautiful moon. 

For the door of the prison must close on you soon, 

An' take your last look at her dim, lovely light, 

That falls on the mountain and valley this night; 

One look at the village, one look at the flood. 

An' one at the sheltering, far-distant wood ; 

Farewell to the forest, farewell to the hill. 

An' farewell to the friends that will think of you still ; 

Farewell to the pathern, the hurlin', an' wake, 

And farewell to the girl who would die for your sake. 

An' twelve sodgers brought him to Maryborough jail, 

An' the turnkey resaved him, refusin' all bail ; 

The fleet limbs wor chained, and the sthrong limbs wor bound, 

An' he laid down his length on the cowld prison-ground, 

An' the dreams of his childhood kem over him there 

As gentle an' soft as the sweet summer air; 

An' happy rem.embrances crowding on ever, 

As fast as the foam-flakes dhrift down on the river, 

Bringing fresh to his heart merry days long gone by, 

Till the tears gathered heavy and thick in his eye. 

But the tears did n't fall, for the pride of his heart 

Would not sufl'er one drop down his pale cheek to start; 

An' he sprang to his feet in the dark prison cave. 

An' he swore with the fierceness that misery gave, 

By the hopes of the good, and the cause of the brave, 

That when he was mouldering in the cold grave, 

His enemies never should have it to boast 

His scorn of their vengeance one moment was lost ; 



296 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

His bosom might bleed, but his cheek should be dhry, 

For undaunted he lived^ and undaunted he 'd die. 

Well, as soon as a few weeks was over and gone. 

The terrible day iv the thrial kem on : 

There was sich a crowd there was scarce room to stand, 

An' sodgers on guard, an' dhragoons sword in hand ; 

An' the court-house so full that the people were bothered, 

An' attorneys an' criers on the point iv bein' smothered ; 

An' counsellors almost gev over for dead, 

An' the jury sitting up in their box overhead; 

An' the judge settled out so detarmined an' big, 

With his gown on his back, and an illegant new wig; 

An' silence was called, an' the minute 'twas said 

The court was as still as the heart of the dead, 

An' they heard but the openin' of one prison lock. 

An' Shamus O'Brien kem into the dock. 

For one minute he turned his eye round on the throng, 

An' he looked at the bars, so firm and so strong, 

An' he saw that he had not a hope nor a friend, 

A chance to escape, nor a word to defend ; 

An' he folded his arms as he stood there alone, 

As calm and as cold as a statue of stone ; 

And they read a big writin', a yard long at laste, 

And Jim did n't understand it, nor mind it a taste, 

An' the judge took a big pinch iv snuif, and he says, 

^' Are you guilty or not, Jim O'Brien, av you plase r' 

An' all held their breath in the silence of dhread, 

And Shamus O'Brien made answer and said : 

" My lord, if you ask me, if in my lifetime 

I thought any treason, or did any crime 

That should call to my cheek, as I stand alone here, 

The hot blush of shame, or the coldness of fear, 

Though I stood by the grave to receive my death-blow, 

Before God and the world I would answer you, No ! 

But if you would ask me, as I think it like, 

If in the rebellion I carried a pike, 



) 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 297 

An' fouglit for ould Ireland from the first to the close, 

An' shed the heart's blood of her bitterest foes. 

I answer you, Yes ; and I tell you again, 

Though I stand here to perish, it 's my glory that then 

In her cause I was willing my veins should run dhry, 

An' that now for her sake I am ready to die." 

Then the silence was great, and the jury smiled bright, 

And the judge was n't sorry the job was made light; 

By my sowl, it 's himself was the crabbed ould chap ! 

In a twinklin' he pulled on his ugly black cap. 

Then Shamus's mother, in the crowd standin' by, 

Called out to the judge with a pitiful cry : 

*^ Oh, judge ! darlin', don't, oh, don't say the word ! 

The crathur is young, have mercy, my lord ; 

He was foolish, he did n't know what he was doin' ; 

You don't know him, my lord — oh, don't give him to ruin ! 

He's the kindliest crathur, the tendherest-hearted; 

Don't part us for ever, we that 's so long parted. 

Judge, mavourneen, forgive him, forgive him, my lord, 

An' Grod will forgive you — oh, don't say the word !" 

That was the first minute that O'Brien was shaken, 

When he saw that he was not quite forgot or forsaken 

An' down his pale cheeks, at the word of his mother, 

The big tears wor runnin' fast, one afther th' other ; 

An' two or three times he endeavored to spake. 

But the sthrong, manly voice 'twould falther and break; 

But at last, by the strength of his high-mounting pride, 

He conquered and masthered his grief's swelling tide, 

^' An'/' says he, " mother, darlin', don't break your poor heart, 

For, sooner or later, the dearest must part ; 

And God knows it's betther than wandering in fear 

On the bleak, trackless mountain, among the wild deer, 

To lie in the grave, where the head, heart, and breast 

From thought, labor, and sorrow, for ever shall rest. 

Then, mother, my darlin', don't cry any more, 

Don't make me seem broken, in this, my last hour; 



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298 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

For I wish, wben my head's lyin' under the raven, 
No thrue man can say that I died like a craven !'' 
Then toward the judge Shamus bent down his head. 
An' that minute the solemn death-sentince was said. 

The mornin' was bright, an' the mists rose on high, 

An^ the lark whistled merrily in the clear sky; 

But why are the men standin' idle so late ? 

An^ why do the crowds gather fast in the street ? 

What come they to talk of? what come they to see? 

An' why does the long rope hang from the cross-tree ? 

Oh, Shamus O'Brien ! pray fervent and fast; 

May the saints take your soul, for this day is your last; 

Pray fast an' pray sthrong, for the moment is nigh, 

When, sthrong, proud, an' great as you are, you must die. 

An' fasther an' fastlier the crowd gathered there — 

Boys, horses, and gingerbread, just like a fair; 

An' whiskey was sellin', and cussamuck too, 

An' ould men and young women enjoying the view. 

An' ould Tim Mulvany, he med the remark 

There was n't sich a sight since the time of Noah's ark ; 

An' be gorry, 'twas thrue for him, for divil sich a scruge, 

Sich divarshin and crowds, was known since the deluge, 

For thousands were gathered there, if there was one, 

Waitin' till such time as the hangin' 'd come on. 

At last they threw open the big prison -gate. 

An' out came the sheriffs and sodgers in state. 

An' a cart in the middle, an' Shamus was in it, 

Not paler, but prouder than ever that minute. 

An' as soon as the people saw Shamus O'Brien, 

Wid prayin' and blessin', and all the girls cryin', 

A wild, wailin' sound kem on b}^ degrees, 

Like the sound of the lonesome wind blowin' through trees. 

On, on to the gallows the sheriffs are gone, 

An' the cart an' the sodgers go steadily on ; 

An' at every side swellin' around of the cart, 

A wild, sorrowful sound, that id open your heart. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 299 

Now under the gallows the cart takes its stand, 

An' the hangman gets up with the rope in his hand; 

An' the priest, havin' blest him, goes down on the ground, 

An' Shamus O'Brien throws one last look around. 

Then the hangman dhrew near, an' the people grew still. 

Young faces turned sickly, and warm hearts turned chill; 

An' the rope bein' ready, his neck was made bare. 

For the gripe iv the life-strangling cord to prepare ; 

An' the good priest has left him, havin' said his last prayer. 

But the good priest done more, for his hands he unbound. 

And with one daring spring Jim has leaped on the ground ; 

Bang ! bang ! goes the carbines, and clash goes the sabres ; 

He 's not down ! he 's alive still ! now stand to him, neighbors ! 

Through the smoke and the horses he 's into the crowd — 

By the heavens, he 's free ! — than thunder more loud, 

By one shout from the people the heavens were shaken — 

One shout that the dead of the world might awaken. 

The sodgers ran this way, the sheriffs ran that, 

An' Father Malone lost his new Sunday hat; 

To-night he '11 be sleepin' in Aherloe Griin, 

An' the divil 's in the dice if you catch him ag'in. 

Your swords they may glitter, your carbines go bang, 

But if you want hangin', it ^s yourself you must hang. 

He has mounted his horse, and soon he will be 
In America, darlint, the land of the free. 



BUGLE /SOA^G^.— Tennyson. 

The splendor falls on castle walls 

And snowy summits old in story; 
The long light shakes across the lakes. 
And the wild cataract leaps in glory. 
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying : 
BloW; bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 



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300 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

hark, hear ! how thin and clear, 

And thinner, clearer, further going; 
sweet and far, from cliff and scar, 
The horns of Elfland faintly blowing ! 
Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying : 
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying 

O love, they die in yon rich sky. 

They faint on hill or field or river : 
Our echoes roll from soul to soul, 
And grow for ever and for ever. 
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, 
And answer echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. 



FALL OF WARSAW, 1794.— Campbell. 

! SACRED Truth ! thy triumph ceased a while, 
And Hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to smile, 
When leagued Oppression poured to Northern wars 
Her whiskered pandours and her fierce hussars ; 
Waved her dread standard to the breeze of morn, 
Pealed her loud drum, and twanged her trumpet horn : 
Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van, 
Presaging wrath to Poland — and to man ! 

Warsaw's last champion from her heights surveyed 
Wide o'er the fields a waste of ruin laid — 
Heaven ! he cried, my bleeding country save ! 
Is there no hand on high to shield the brave ? 
Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains, 
Rise, fellow-men ! our country yet remains ! 
By that dread name, we wave the sword on high, 
And swear for her to live ! — with her to die ! 

He said ; and on the rampart heights arrayed 
His trusty warriors, few, but undismayed; 
Firm paced and slow, a horrid front they form, 
Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm ; 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 801 

Low, murmuring sounds along their banners fly, — 
*' Revenge, or death V — the watchword and reply : 
Then pealed the notes, omnipotent to charm, 
And the loud tocsin tolled their last alarm ! 

In vain, alas ! in vain, ye gallant few ! 
From rank to rank your volleyed thunder flew ; — 
! bloodiest picture in the book of Time, 
Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime ; 
Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe, 
Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe ! 
Dropped from her nerveless grasp the shattered spear, 
Closed her bright eye, and curbed her high career, 
Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell, 
And Freedom shrieked, as Kosciusko fell ! 

righteous Heaven ! ere Freedom found a grave, 
Why slept the sword, omnipotent to save ? 
Where was thine arm, vengeance ! where thy rod, 
That smote the foes of Sion and of God ? 

Departed spirits of the mighty dead ! 
Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled ! 
Friends of the world ! restore your swords to man, 
Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van ! 
Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone. 
And make her arm puissant as your own ! 
O ! once again to Freedom's cause return 
The patriot Tell, — the Bruce of Bannockburn ! 

Yes, thy proud lords, unpitied land ! shall see 
That man hath yet a soul, — and dare be free ! 
A little while, along thy saddening plains. 
The starless night of Desolation reigns ; 
Truth shall restore the light by Nature given. 
And, like Prometheus, bring the fire of Heaven ! 
Prone to the dust Oppression shall be hurled, 
Her name, her nature, withered from the world ! 



26 



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302 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 



MARCO BOZZARIS.—Balleck. 

At midnight, in his guarded tent, 

The Turk was dreaming of the hour 
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, 

Should tremble at his power ; 
In dreams, through camp and court he bore 
The trophies of a conqueror; 

In dreams, his song of triumph heard; 
Then wore his monarch's signet ring ; 
Then pressed that monarch's throne — a king: 
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, 

As Eden's garden bird. 

At midnight, in the forest shades, 

Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band. 
True as the steel of their tried blades, 

Heroes in heart and hand. 
There had the Persian's thousands stood. 
There had the glad earth drunk their blood, 

On old Platsea's day; 
And now there breathed that haunted air 
The sons of sires who conquered there, 
With arm to strike, and soul to dare, 

As quick, as far, as they. 

An hour passed on : the Turk awoke. 

That bright dream was his last. 
He woke to hear his sentries shriek, 
*' To arms ! they come ! the Greek I the Greek !" 
He woke, to die 'midst flame and smoke, 
And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke, 

And death-shots falling thick and fast 
As lightnings from the mountain cloud, 
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, 

Bozzaris cheer his band : 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 303 

^' Strike ! — till the last armed foe expires ; 
Strike ! — for your altars and your fires ; 
Strike ! — for the green graves of your sires; 
God, and your native land !'^ 

They fought like brave men, long and well; 

They piled that ground with Moslem slain; 
They conquered ; — but Bozzaris fell, 

Bleeding at every vein. 
His few surviving comrades saw 
His smile when rang their loud hurrah 

And the red field was won. 
Then saw in death his eyelids close, 
Calmly as to a night's repose, — 

Like flowers at set of sun. 

Come to the bridal chamber, Death ! 

Come to the mother's, when she feels, 
For the first time, her first-born's breath ; 

Come when the blessed seals 
That close the pestilence are broke, 
And crowded cities wail its stroke ; 
Come in consumption's ghastly form. 
The earthquake shock, the ocean storm; 
Come when the heart beats high and warm 

With banquet song, and dance, and wine; 
And thou art terrible : — the tear, 
The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, 
And all we know, or dream, or fear, 

Of agony, are thine. 

But to the hero, when his sword 

Plas won the battle for the free, 
Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word, 
And in its hollow tones are heard 

The thanks of millions yet to be. 



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304 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Come when his task of fame is wrought; 
Come, with her laurel-leaf, blood-bought; 

Come in her crowning hour, — and then 
Thy sunken eye's unearthly light, 
To him is welcome as the sight 

Of sky and stars to prisoned men ; 
Thy grasp is welcome as the hand 
Of brother in a foreign land ; 
Thy summons welcome as the cry 
That told the Indian isles were nigh 

To the world-seeking Genoese, 
When the land-wind, from woods of palm, 
And orange-groves, and fields of balm, 

Blew o'er the Haytian seas. 

Bozzaris ! with the storied brave 

Greece nurtured in her glory's time, 
Rest thee : there is no prouder grave, 

Even in her own proud clime. 
She wore no funeral weeds for thee, 

Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume 
Like torn branch from death's leafless tree, 
In sorrow's pomp and pageantry, 

The heartless luxury of the tomb ; 
But she remembers thee as one 
Long loved, and for a season gone ; 
For thee her poet's lyre is wreathed, 
Her marble wrought, her music breathed; 
For thee she rings the birthday bells ; 
Of thee her babes' first lisping tells ; 
For thine her evening prayer is said. 
At palace couch and cottage bed ; 
Her soldier, closing with the foe. 
Gives for thy sake a deadlier blow ; 
His plighted maiden, when she fears 
For him, the joy of her young years. 
Thinks of thy fate, and checks her tears ; 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 305 

And she, the mother of thy boys, 
Though in her eye and faded cheek 
Is read the grief she will not speak, 

The memory of her buried joys, — 
And even she who gave thee birth. 
Will, by their pilgrim-circled hearth, 

Talk of thy doom without a sigh ; 
For thou art Freedom^s now, and Fame's : 
One of the few, the immortal names 

That were not born to die. 



L CEINVAB.^ScoTT. 



0, YOUNG Lochinvar is come out of the West, — 
Through all the wide Border his steel was the best ; 
And save his good broadsword he weapons had none, — 
He rode all unarmed and he rode all alone. 
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, 
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. 

He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone, 

He swam the Eske river where ford there was none ; 

But ere he alighted at Netherby gate, 

The bride had consented, the gallant came late : 

For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war. 

Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. 

So boldly he entered the Netherby hall, 
^Mong bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all, 
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword 
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word), 
^^ 0, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war. 
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ?'^ 
26* u 



806 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

^* I long wooed jour daughter, — my suit you denied; — 
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide ; 
And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, 
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. 
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, 
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar/' 

The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up, 
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup. 
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, 
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. 
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, — 
^' Now tread we a measure V^ said young Lochinvar. 

So stately his form, and so lovely her face, 

That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; 

While her mother did fret, and her father did fume. 

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume, 

And the bridemaidens whispered, '' 'T were better by far, 

To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.'' 

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear. 

When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood near. 

So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung. 

So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! 

" She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; 

They '11 have fleet steeds that follow,'^ quoth young Lochinvar. 

There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan ; 

Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran 

There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee, 

But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. 

So daring in love, and so dauntless in war. 

Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar? 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 307 



THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS,— C, C. Moore. 

^TwAS the night before Christmas, when all through the house 

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse ; 

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, 

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there; 

The children were nestled all snug in their beds, 

While visions of sugar-plums danced through their heads ^ 

And Mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap. 

Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap — 

"When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, 

I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. 

Away to the window I flew like a flash. 

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. 

The moon, on the breast of the new-fallen snow, 

Gave a lustre of mid-day to objects below; 

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, 

But a minature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer. 

With a little old driver, so lively and quick, 

I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. 

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came. 

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them oy name ; 

" Now, Dasher ! now, Dancer ! now, Prancer ! now. Vixen ! 

On, Comet ! on, Cupid I on, Donder and Blitzen ! — 

To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall ! 

Now, dash away, dash away, dash away all !'^ 

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly. 

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky, 

So, up to the house-top the coursers they flew, 

With the sleigh full of toys — and St. Nicholas too. 

And then in a twinkhng I heard on the roof 

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof, 

As I drew in my head, and was turning around, 

Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. 

He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot, 

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot ; 



308 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, 

And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack. 

His eyes how they twinkled ! his dimples how merry ! 

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry ; 

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, 

And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow. 

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, 

And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath. 

He had a broad face and a little round belly 

That shook, when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly. 

He was chubby and plump — a right jolly old elf; 

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself. 

A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head, 

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. 

He spake not a word, but went straight to his work, 

And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk, 

And laying his finger aside of his nose, 

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. 

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle. 

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle; 

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, 

" Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night V 



TEE NIGHT AFTER CHRISTMAS, 

'TwAS the night after Christmas, when all through the house, 

Every soul was abed, and still as a mouse. 

The stockings so lately St. Nicholas^ care, 

Were emptied of all that was eatable there, 

The darlings had been duly tucked up in their beds — 

With very full stomachs and pains in their heads. 

I was dozing away in my new cotton cap, 

And Nancy was rather far gone in a nap, 

When out in the Nursery arose such a clatter, 

I sprang from my sleep, crying — " What is the matter V^ 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 309 

I flew to each bedside, still half in a doze, 

Tore open the curtains and threw off the clothes, 

While the light of the taper served clearly to show 

The piteous plight of those objects below ; 

For what to the fond father's eyes should appear, 

But the little pale face of each sick little dear ; 

For each pet that had crammed itself full as a tick, 

I knew in a moment now felt like Old Nick. 

Their pulses were rapid, their breathings the same, 

What their stomachs rejected I ^11 mention by name — 

Now Turkey, now Stuffing, Plum Pudding of course, 

And Custards and Crullers, and Cranberry sauce, 

Before outraged nature all went to the wall ; 

Yes — Lollypops, Flapdoddle, Dinner and all. 

Like pellets, which urchins from pop-guns let fly, 

Went Figs, Nuts, and Raisins, Jams, Jelly, and Pie. 

'Till each error of diet was brought to my view, 

To the shame of Mamma and Santa Claus too. 

I turned from the sight, to my bed-room stepped back. 

And brought out a phial marked "'Pulv. Ipecac," 

When my Nancy exclaimed — for their sufferings shocked her — 

Don^t you think you had better, love, run for the Doctor ?'' 

I ran^— and was scarcely back under my roof. 

When I heard the sharp clatter of old Jalap's hoof. 

I might say that I hardly had turned myself round. 

When the Doctor came into the room with a bound. 

He was covered with mud from his head to his foot. 

And the suit he had on was his very worst suit ; 

He had hardly had time to put that on his back, 

And he looked like a Falstaff, half fuddled with sack. 

His eyes how they twinkled ! Had the Doctor got merry ? 

His cheeks looked like Port and his breath smelt of Sherry^ 

He hadn't been shaved for a fortnight or so, 

And the beard on his chin wasn't white as the snow. 

But inspecting their tongues in despite of their teeth. 

And drawino; his watch from his waistcoat beneath — 



310 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

He felt of each pulse, saying : — '' Each little belly 

Must get rid'^ — here he laughed — '' of the rest of that jelly. 

I gazed on each chubby, plump, sick little elf. 

And groaned when he said so, in spite of myself; 

But a wink of his eye when he physicked our Fred, 

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. 

He didn't prescribe — but went straightway to work, 

And dosed all the rest — gave his trousers a jerk, 

And adding directions while blowing his nose, 

He buttoned his coat — from his chair he arose, 

Then jumped in his gig — gave old Jalap a whistle, 

And Jalap dashed off as if pricked by a thistle ; 

But the Doctor exclaimed, ere he drove out of sight, 

^^ They '11 be well to-morrow — good-night ! Jones — good-night V^ 



THE CLOSING SCENE.— Read, 

Within this sober realm of leafless trees, 
The russet year inhaled the dreamy air, 

Like some tanned reaper in his hour of ease, 

When all the fields are lying brown and bare. ^ 

The gray barns looking from their hazy hills 
O'er the dim waters widening in the vales, 

Sent down the air a greeting to the mills, 
On the dull thunder of alternate flails. 

All sights were mellowed and all sounds subdued, 
The hills seemed further and the streams sang low ; 

As in a dream the distant woodmnn hewed 
His winter log with many a muffled blow. 

The embattled forests, erewhile armed in gold, 
Their banners bright with every martial hue. 

Now stood, like some sad heated host of old, 
Withdrawn afar in Time's remotest hue. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 311 

On vslumberous wings the vulture tried his flight 

The dove scarce heard his sighing mate's complaint; 

And, like a star slow drowning in the light, 

The village church-vane seemed to pale and faint. 

The sentinel cock upon the hill-side crew — 
Crew thrice, and all was stiller than before — 

Silent till some replying wanderer blew 

His alien horn, and then was heard no more. 

Where erst the jay within the elm's tall crest 

Made garrulous trouble round the unfledged young, 

And where the oriole hung her swaying nest 
By every light wind like a censer swung; 

Where sang the noisy masons of the eaves, 

The busy swallows circling ever near, 
Foreboding, as the rustic mind believes, 

An early harvest and a plenteous year ; 

Where every bird which charmed the vernal feast 
Shook the sweet slumber from its wings at morn, 

To warn the reapers of the rosy east — 
All now was songless, empty, and forlorn. 

Alone, from out the stubble piped the quail, 

And croaked the crow through all the dreary gloom ; 

Alone the pheasant, drumming in the vale, 
Made echo to the distant cottage loom. 

There was no bud, no bloom upon the bowers ; 

The spiders wove their thin shrouds night by night ; 
The thistle-down, the only ghost of flowers, 

Sailed slowly by — passed noiseless out of sight. 

Amid all this, in this most cheerless air. 

And where the woodbine sheds upon the porch 

Its crimson leaves, as if the year stood there 
Firing the floor with his inverted torch — 



312 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Amid all this, the centre of the scene, 

The white-haired matron, with monotonous tread, 

Plied her swift wheel, and with her joyous mien 
Sat like a Fate, and watched the flying thread. 

She had known sorrow. He had walked with her, 
Oft supped, and broke with her the ashen crust; 

And in the dead leaves still she heard the stir 
Of his black mantle trailing in the dust. 

While yet her cheek was bright with summer bloom, 
Her country summoned, and she gave her all; 

And twice War bowed to her his sable plume — 
E,e-gave the swords to rust upon her wall. 

Re-gave the swords — but not the hand that drew, 
And struck for liberty the dying blow; 

Nor him who, to his sire and country true, 
Fell 'mid the ranks of the invading foe. 

Long, but not loud, the droning wheel went on, 
Like the low murmur of a hive at noon ; 

Long, but not loud, the memory of the gone 

Breathed through her lips a sad and tremulous tune. 

At last the thread was snapped — her head was bowed : 
Life drooped the distafiP through his hands serene ; 

And loving neighbors smoothed her careful shroud — 
While Death and Winter closed the autumn scene. 



DIALOGUES. 



DIALOGUES. 



ALL FOE GOOD ORDER.— D. P. Page. 

Characters. — Schoolmaster; Isaac, a schoolboy; Mr. Fosdick; 
Bill, his son; Mrs. O'Clary (Irish) ; Patrick, her son; Squire 
Snyder ; Jonas, his son ; Saunders, a drunken fellow ; Jabez, 
his son ; Some half-dozen schoolboj^s. 

Master. (^Setting copies alone?) Well, so here I am again, 
after aDotlier night's sleep. But, sleep or no sleep, I feel about 
as mucb. fatigued in tlie morning as I do at night. It is impos- 
sible to ^<it the cares and anxieties of my profession out of my 
mind. It does seem to me that the parents of some of my 
pupils are very unfeeling ; for I know I have done my very best 
to keep a good school, and however I may have failed in some 
instances I have the satisfaction of feeling, in my conscience, 
that my best ' endeavors have been devoted to my work. — A 
merry lot of copies here, to be set before school time. (^Looking 
at Ms watch?) But "a diligent hand will accomplish much.^' 
By the way, that will do for a copy for Jonas Snyder — little 
culprit! He was very idle yesterday. (^ThhiJcing and busf/.) 
What can that story mean, which Mr. Truetell told me this 
morning ? Five or six ! — who could they be ? — five or six of 
the parents of my scholars dreadfully offended ! Let me see : 
What have I done ? Nothing very lately, that I recollect. 
Let's see; yesterday. No, there was nothing yesterday, except 
that I detained the class in geography till they got their lessons. 
0, yes ; Jonas Snyder was punished for idleness. But I spoke 
to him four or five times, and he would do nothing but whisper, 
and whittle his bench; and when at last he half ate up an apple, 
and threw the rest at Jacob Beadslow, I thought he deserved it. 

(315) 



316 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Let 's see : I gave liim six claps — three on each hand. Well, 
he did not get more than his deserts. (^Enter one of the scholars^ 
with his books under his arm^ walking slowly^ and eying the 
master^ to his seat. Master, still hasy and thinking, by and by 
says,) Isaac, you may come to me. 

(^He walks along and says,) Sir ! 

Master, Do you remember {placing his pen over his ear, 
and turning earnestly and portentously round) whether I pun- 
ished any scholars yesterday ? 

Isaac. Yes, sir ) you feruled Jone Snyder, for playing and 
laughing. 

Mas. Did I punish any one else ? 

Is. Not as I recollect. 

Mas. Think, Isaac ; think carefully. 

Is. You kept a lot of us after school for not saying our 
lessons 

Mas. (^Quickly.) You mean, Isaac, rather, I kept you to 
get your lessons, which you had neglected. 

Is. Yes, sir; and you made Patrick O'Clary stop and sweep, 
because he stayed out too late after recess. 

Mas. 0, yes; I remember that. 

Is. He was as mad as a hop about it ; he said he meant to 
tell his mother that you made him sweep for nothing. 

Mas. Hush ! hush ! You should n't tell tales. Do you 
remember any other punishments ? 

Is. No, sir; not yesterday. You hit Jabe Saunders a clip 
across the knuckles with the cowskin, day before yesterday. 
Don't you remember ? Just as he stretched out his hand to 
hook that old rag upon Tom Willis's collar, you came along 
behind him, and clip went the old whip, right across his fingers, 
and down went the old rag. There, I never was more glad to 
see anything in my life ! Little dirty, mean fellow ! — he 's 
always sticking things upon fellows. I saw him once pin an old 
dirty rag upon a man's coat, just as he was putting a letter into 
the post-office. I never saw such a fellow ! 

( jTAe other boys coming in gradually, the master rings his little 
bell, and says,) Boys, come to order, and take your books. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 817 

Now, boys, I wisli to see if we can't have a good school to-day. 
Let's see : are we all here ? 

Boy^. No, sir ! No, sir ! 

Ma^, Who is absent? 

Boy%. Jone Snyder ! Jabe Saunders ! Patrick O'Clary ! 
and — 

Mas. Speak one at a time, my boys. Don^t make confusion, 
to begin with ; — and (looking around them^) — 0, Bill Fosdick, 
— only four ! 

One of the hoys. Pat O'Clary is late. I saw him down in 
Baker street, poking along. He always comes late 

3Ias. Did he say he was coming ? 

Same Boy. I asked him if he was coming to school, and he 
shook his head, and muttered out something about his mother, 
and I ran along and left him. 

3Ias. Well, boys, now let us try to have a still school and 
close study to-day, and see if it is not more pleasant to learn 
than to play. (^Rises and walks to and fro on the stage.) Take 
the geography lesson, James and Samuel, first thing this morn- 
ing ; and, Isaac, I don't wish to detain you again to-day. (^Loud 
knock at the door.) 

(^Enter BiLL FoSDiCK, walking imiyortantly and consequen- 
tially up to the master , and says,) Here ! father wants to see 
you at the door ! 

(^Master turns to go to the door, followed hy Bill, who wishes 
to hear all that's said, and Mr. Fosdick, looking quite savage, 
steps right inside, the master politely howing, with a ^'^ good- 
morning.^^) 

Fosdick, Here, sir; I want to see you about my boy. I 
don't like to have you keep him after school every day ) I want 
him at home, — and I should like to have you dismiss him when 
school is done. If he wants lickin', lick him, — that 's all ; but 
don't you keep him here an hour or two every day after school. 
I don't send him here for that ! 

Mas. But, my good sir, I have not often detained him ; not 
more than twice within a fort 

Fas. Well, don't you do it again — that 's all ! 
27^ 



318 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Mas. But, sir, I have only detained him to learn the lessons 
which he might learn in school ; and surely, if 

Fos. Well, well, sir ! don^t you do it again ! — that ^s all I 
have to say ! If he behaves bad, you lick him — only do it in 
reason. But when school is done, I want him dismissed. 

Mas. Sir, I do what I conceive to be my duty ] and I serve 
all my scholars alike ; and while I would be willing to accommo- 
date you, I shall do what I think is my duty. ( Gathering spirit 
and gravity^ and advancing.) Sir, do I understand you wish 
me to whip your son for not getting his lesson ? 

Fos. Yes — -no — yes— in reason ; I don't want my children's 
bones broke. 

31as. (^Taking from the desk a cowhide.^ Do you prefer 
your son should be whipped to being detained ? 

Fos. I don't think not getting his lessons is such a dreadful 
crime. I never used to get my lessons, and old Master Pepper- 
mint never used to lick me^ and I am sure he never kept me 
after school ; but we used to have schools good for sumfin in 
them days. — Bill, go to yoUr seat, and behave yourself; and 
when school is done, you come home. That ^s all I have to say. 

Mas. But stop, my boy! (^Speaking to Bill^ decidedly^ 
There happen to be two sides to this question* There is some- 
thing further to be said, before you go to your seat in this 
school. 

Fos. What! you don't mean to turn him out of school, du 
ye? (^Somebody knocks.^ 

(J. hoy steps to the door^ and in steps Mus. O'Clary, who, 
approaching Fosdick^ ^^^y^d Is it you that 's the schoolmaster, 
sure? It's I that's after spaking to the schoolmaster. (Cwr- 
tesying.) 

Fos. No; I^m no schoolmaster. 

3Ias. What is your wish, madam ? 

Mrs. 0' Clary. I wants to spake with the schoolmaster, I do, 
sir. ( Curtesies.) 

Mas. Well, madam, (rapping to keep the hoys stilly who are 
disposed to laugh^) I am the schoolmaster. What is your 
wish? 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 319 

Mrs. 0' C. Why, sir, my little spalpeen of a son goes to this 
school, he does; and he says he's made to swape every day, he 
is; and it's all for nothing, he tills me; and sure I don't like it, 
I don't; and I'm kim to complain to ye, I have. It's Patrick 
O'Clary that I 'm spaking of; and it's I that 's his mither, I be ; 
and his poor father was Paddy O'Clary from* Cork, it was — rest 
his sowl ! 

Mas. Well, madam, he has never swept but once, I believe ; 
and that, surely, was not without a good reason. 

Mrs. 0' C. But himself tills a different story, he does ; and 
I niver knew him till but one lie in my life, I didn't; and that 
was as good as none. But the little spalpeen shall be after till- 
ing his own stowry, he shall; for it's he that's waiting in the 
entry, and will till ye no lie at all at all, — upon that ye may 
depind ; though it 's his mither that says it, and sure! (Calls.) 
Patrick ! Patrick ! Patrick ! My dear, here 's your mither 
wants ye to come in, and till master how it's you that's kept to 
swape ivry day, and it's all for nothing, it is. Come in, I say, 
in a jiffy ! (Patrick, scratching Ms head, enters.) Here 's your 
mither, dear: now till your master,— and till the truth, — didn't 
ye till your mither that ye had to swape ivry day for nothing; 
and it 's you that 's going to be kept swaping ivry day for a 
month to come, and sure ? 

Mas. Now tell the truth, Patrick. 

FatricJc. (Looking at his mother.) No; I niver said no 
such words; and sure, I said how I's kept to swape yisterday, 
for staying out too late; and that's all I said 'bout it, at all 
at all. 

Mrs. 0' C. '' Cush la macree !" Little sonny, how you talk ! 
He's frightened, he is, and sure. (Turning to Fosdick.) He's 
always bashful before company, he is. But, master, it's I that 
don't like to have him made to swape the school, indade ; and 
if you can do nothing else, I shall be in sad taking, I shall, and 
sure. If you should be after bating him, I should make no 
complaint; for I bates him myself, whiniver he lies to his mither 
— a little spalpeen that he is. But I can't bear to have him 
made to do the humbling work of swaping, at all at all ; and 



320 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

it's I that shall make a " clish ma claver/' an' it's not stopped — 
indade I shall. (^Somehodi/ knocks.^ 

(Isaac steps to the door^ and returning^ sa^/s^) 'Squire Snyder 
wishes to see you, sir. 

Mas. (Smiling.) Well, ask Mr. Snyder to step in. We 
may as well have a regular court of it. 

(^Isaac waits upon him in^ leading JoNAS, with his hands 
poulticed.) 

Mas. (Smiling.) Good morning, Mr. Snyder; — walk in, 
iir. 

Mr. Snyder. (Rather gentlemanly?) I hope you will excuse 
my interrupting your school ; but I called to inquire what Jonas, 
here, could have done, that you bruised him up at such a rate. 
Poor little fellow ! he came home, taking on as if his heart 
would break ; and both his hands swelled up bigger than mine ; 
and he said you had been beating him for nothing. I thought 
I 'd come up and inquire into it j for I don't hold to this banging 
and abusing children, and especially when they haven't done 
anything; though I'm a friend to good order. 

Mas. I was not aware that I punished him very severely, 
I ^ sir. 

' Mr, S. 0, it was dreadfully severe. Why, the poor little 

fellow's hands pained him so, that his mother had to poultice 

them, and sit up with him all night; and this morning she 

wanted to come up to school with him herself; but I told her I 

I ^ guessed she better let me come. Jonas, do your hands ache 

"' now, dear? 

Jonas. (Holding them both out together.) 0, dreadfully ! 
They feel as if they were in the fire. 

Mr. S. Well, dear, keep composed ; don't cry, dear. Now, 
sir (addressing the master,) this was all for nothing. 

Mas. No, sir. It was for something, I am thinking. 

Jo. I say I did not do nothing; so there, now. (Somebody 
knocks.) 

Mas. Gentlemen, sit down. (Looking perplexed.) Sit down, 
madam. Give me a little time, and I'll endeavor to set the 
matter right. (All sitting down hut the hoys.) 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 321 

Mr. S. Why, I don't wish to make a serious matter of it. I 
shan't prosecute you. I was only going to ask if you couldn't 
devise some other kind of punishment than pommelling. If you'd 
made him stop after school, or set him to sweeping the house, 
or scouring the benches, or even whipped him with a cowhide 
or a switch sticky I should not have complained ; but I don't 
like this beating boys. (^Knocking again.) 

Mas. Isaac, go and see who is at the door. {Isaac goes^ and 
in stalks Saunders, with his son Jahez.) 

Saunders. {Bowing and Jiourishing.) Here ! halloo ! Here, 
I say, Mr. Schoolmaster, settle up the score as ye goes along. I 
say {snatching a cowhide^) you have been horsewhipping my 
boy here, hain't you? By the fifteen gallon law, you don't come 
that game over the son of Nehemiah Saunders, you see, you 

pale-faced, good-for-nothing . But pardon me, master; I 

ax your pardon; for ^Miah Saunders always was, and always 
will be, a gentleman. — Ye see, — don't ye see ? — {hiccoughing ^-^ 
lifts off his hat,) — ye see — I '11 tell ye what, master — if I M only 
known it yesterday, ye see, I 'd a been here and — but — ye see — 
yesterday — I was very particularly engaged — but now {ap- 
proaching, and switching the cowhide,) ye see we '11 know who 's 
the strongest. I '11 give you 

3Irs. 0' C. {Screeching.) La! what shall I do ? If there's 
a going to be fighting, by St. Patrick, I shall go into hysterics. — 
dear ! dear ! dear ! 

Mas. 0, don't be frightened, madam. 

Saund. {Looking at the woman.) 0, ha, ha ! Why, Cath- 
leen 0' Clary— ye see — why, have you left your washtub to go 
to school ? Why, bless my heart ! Why, ye see, bless me I — 
the master here will have a most tractable pupil in you, Cath- 
leen. Why, my stars ! ye see — and here is neighbor Fosdick ! 
why, how de du, neighbor Fosdick ? {Bowing very low to S.) 
How do you do, 'Squire Snyder? Why, I hope I hain't been 
disturbing a court, nor nothing. {Rubbing his head, d^c.) The 
truth is, I felt dreadfully provoked when I heard that master 
here had been whipping my son with a raw hide, like a horse ; 
and says I. I don't sleep till I have whipped him — and all for 



322 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

notliing, too! — Vve nothing against licking, Mr. Schoolmaster, 
if you use the right kind of licking. Ferule a boy, or give him 
a stick, till he cries '^ Enough !" but none of your horsewhip- 
ping, I say ! — ye see — I can't stand that ! (^During this speech^ 
Jahe archly hangs an old rag upon his father^ s coaty and steps 
hack^ and laughs at it.) 

Mr. Fosdick. ( Who saw it.) Mr. Saunders, what is that 
you 've got upon your coat? (^Examining.) 

Saund. On my coat, — where ? {Loohs^ and after a while 
finds it^ and says^ in awful rage^) " Who did that V 

Fos. It was your hopeful son, there. 

Saund. You little villain of a scamp ! (^Attempting to hit 
him with the whip, hut staggering, fails.) I '11 whip the hide all 
off of you, I will. Master, he's in your house; order him to 
me, and I ^11 show you how to use the cowhide ! 

Mas. Be calm, sir; be calm. Will you be good enough to 
sit down ? You are a gentleman, you say ; then oblige me by 
sitting down between these two gentlemen. 

Saund. That I will. 1^11 oblige any gentleman. (^After 
many attempts, gets to the seat.) 

Mas. And now, gentlemen, and (bowing) madam, I think 
we may each of us begin to see the beauty of variety, especially 
in the matter of opinion. That you may all understand the 
whole case, I will state, in a few words, the facts, as they actu- 
ally occurred. Day before yesterday, our young friend Jabez 
(^pointing to him) was playing his favorite trick of hanging his 
rag-signal upon a schoolmate, after the fashion in which he has 
here so filially served his father, within a few minutes ] and 
standing near him at the time, with my whip in hand, I could 
not resist the temptation to salute his mischievous knuckles with 
a well-directed stroke, which, however effectually it may have 
cut his own fingers and his father's sensibilities, it seems has not 
cut off his ruling propensity. Yesterday was emphatically a 
day of sinning on my part. Jonas Snyder, whose little hands 
have swelled to such enormous magnitude, for constant idleness 
was often reproved ; and after all this, when he threw a portion 
of an apple at a more industrious boy, thus disturbing many of 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 323 

those well-disposed boys, he was called and feruled, receiving 
six strokes — three on each hand — with the rule I now show 
you. Little Patrick O'Clary was required to sweep the school- 
room floor for a strong instance of tardiness at recess ; and this 
punishment was given because I did not wish to inflict a severer 
one upon so small a lad. And last, this little fellow (^pointing 
to Bill Fo&dick) was detained, in common with seven others, to 
learn a lesson which he neglected to learn at the proper time. 

Such are the facts. And yet each of you has assured me 
that I have incurred your displeasure by using a punishment you 
disapprove, and " all for nothing.' ' You have each one taken 
the trouble to come to this room, to render my task — already 
sufficiently perplexing — still more so, by giving parental support 
to childish complaints, and imparting your censure, in no mea- 
sured terms, upon the instructor of your children. But this is 
a most interesting case. You all happen to be here together, 
and you thus give me the opportunity I have long wished, to 
show you your own inconsistencies. 

It is easy to complain of your teacher ; but perhaps either of 
you, in your wisdom, would find it not quite so easy to take my 
place and escape censure. How would either of you have got 
along in the present instance ? Mr. Fosdick, who is displeased 
with detention after school, would have, according to his own 
recommendation, resorted to ^' licking/' either with ferule or 
whip. In this case, he would have incurred the censure of his 
friends, 'Squire Snyder and Mr. Saunders. The squire, in turn, 
would have raised the displeasure of both his friends, by resort- 
ing to his favorite mode of detaining and cowhiding. Mistress 
O'Clary would give the " spalpeens" a ^' bating," as she says, 
after her own peculiar fashion, with which the squire and Mr. 
Saunders could not have been over-much pleased. And Mr. 
Saunders — ah, Mr. 'Miah Saunders — if we may judge from the 
exhibition he has just given us, would have displeased even 
himself, by proving to be what he most of all things detests — a 
champion of the cowhide. But what is a little curious, as it 
appears, is, that while I have not carried out the favorite scheme 
of either one of you, — which, we have already seen, would be 



324 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

objectionable to each of the others, — but have adopted a variety 
of punishments, and the very variety which your own collective 
suffrage would fix upon, I have got myself equally deep into hot 
water; and the grand question is now, what shall I do ? If I 
take the course suggested by you collectively, the result is the 
same. I see no other way but to take my own course, per- 
forming conscientiously my duties, in their time and after their 
manners, and then to demand of you, and all others, the right 
of being sustained. 

Saund. (Jumping icp,} Them is my sentiments, exactly. 
Ye see — I say — ye see — you go ahead, and — ye see — whip that 
little rascal of mine — ye see — just as much as you've a mind 
to,— (fuming to the squire^ who is rising,) — and you shall have 
this whip to do it with. (Handing it to the master.) 

Mr. S. Well, gentlemen, my opinion is, that we have been 
tried and condemned by our own testimony, and there is no 
appeal. My judgment approves the master; and hereafter I 
shall neither hear nor make any more complaints. Jonas, (fum- 
ing to Jo7ias,) my son, if the master is willing, you may go 
home and tell your mother to take off those poultices, and then 
do you come to school and do as you are told; and if I hear of 
any more of your complaints, I will double the dose you may 
receive at school. 

Mrs. 0^ C. And sure, master, the wife of Paddy O'Clary is 
not the woman to resist authority in the new country ; and bless 
your sowl, if you ^11 make my little spalpeen but a good boy, it 's 
I that will kindly remember the favor, though ye make him 
swape until nixt Christmas. Here, Patrick, down upon the little 
knees of your own, and crave the master's forgiveness; for it's 
not Cathleen O'Clary 

Mas, No, madam ; that I shall not allow. I ask no one to 
kneel to me. I shall only require that he correct his past faults, 
and obey me in future. 

Mrs. 0' C. It 's an ungrateful child he would be, if ever again 
he should be after troubling so kind a master. St. Patrick bless 
ye. (Taking little Pat hy the hand, tliey go out.) 

Fos. (Taking the master hy the hand, pleasantly.) Sir, I 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 325 

hope I shall profit by this day's lesson. I have only to say, that 
I am perfectly satisfied we are all wrong; and that is, perhaps 
the best assurance I can give you that I think you are right. 
That ^s all I have to say. 

SauncL Right! right! neighbor Fosdick. We are all — ye 
see — we are all come out on the wrong side this time ; ain^t we, 
squire ? I tell ye what, Mr. Schoolmaster, — 'Miab Saunders 
never is ashamed to back out (^suits the action^ doc.^') when he's 
wrong. I says, I — ye see — ^3Iiah Saunders is all for good 
order. Whip that boy of mine — ye see — as much as you please. 
I.^ll not complain again — ye see; — whip him — says I — ye see — 
whip him, and I — tell ye — if ^Miah Saunders don't back ye 
up — then, ye see — may I be chosen president of — Cold Water 
Society. (^Exeunt.') 



THE CARDINAVS EXCULPATION.— Bjjlwer. 

■ Richelieu. Room, my Lords, room I The minister of France 
Can need no intercession with the King. 

(TheT/ fall back.) 

Louis. What means this false report of death. Lord Cardinal ? 

Rich. Are you then angered, sire, that I live still ? 

Louis. No ; but such artifice — 

Rich. Not mine : — look elsewhere ! 
Louis — my castle swarmed with the assassins. 

Baradas (advancing). We have punished them already. 
Huguet now 
In the Bastile. — Oh ! my Lord, we were prompt 
To avenge you — lue were — 

Rich. We ? Ha I ha ! you hear, 
My liege ! What page, man, in the last court grammar 
Made you a plural ? Count, you have seized the hireling : — 
Sire, shall I name the master ? 

Louis. Tush ! my Lord, 
The old contrivance : — ever does your wit 
28 



326 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Invent assassins, — that ambition may 
Slay rivals — 

Rich. Rivals, sire ! in wliat ? 
Service to France? I have none! Lives the man 
Whom Europe, paled before your glory, deems 
Rival to Armand Richelieu ? 

Louis. What ! so haughty I 
Remember, he who made, can unmake. 

Rich. Never ! 
Never ! Your anger can recall your trust, 
Annul my office, spoil me of my lands, 
Rifle my coffers, — but my name — my deeds, 
Are royal in a land beyond your sceptre ! 
Pass sentence on me, if you will ; from Kings, 
Lo, I appeal to Time ! Be just, my liege — 
I found your kingdom rent with heresies 
And bristling with rebellion; lawless nobles 
And breadless serfs; England fomenting discord; 
Austria — her clutch on your dominion ; Spain 
Forging the prodigal gold of either Ind 
To armed thunderbolts. The Arts lay dead, 
Trade rotted in your marts, your Armies mutinous, 
Your Treasury bankrupt. Would you now revoke 
Your trust, so be it ! and I leave you, sole 
Supremest Monarch of the mightiest realm. 
From Granges to the Icebergs : — Look without ; 
No foe not humbled ! Look within ; the Arts 
Quit for your schools their old Hesperides, 
The golden Italy ! while through the veins 
Of your vast empire flows in strengthening tides. 
Trade, the calm health of nations ! 

Sire, I know 
Your smoother courtiers please you best — nor measure 
Myself with them, — yet sometimes I would doubt 
If statesmen, rocked and dandled into power, 
Could leave such legacies to kings ! 

(Louis appears irresolute.^ 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 327 

Baradas (^passing Min^ whispers). But Julie, 
Shall I not summon her to court ? 

Louis (motions to Baradas and turns haughtily to the Car- 
dinal). Enough! 
Four Eminence must excuse a longer audience. 
To your own palace : — For our conference, this is 
Nor place — nor season. 

Rich. Good my liege, for Justice 
All place a temple, and all season, summer! 
Do you deny me justice ? Saints of heaven ! 
He turns from me ! Do you deny me justice f 
For fifteen years, while in these hands dwelt empire, 
The humblest craftsman — the obscurest vassal — 
The very leper shrinking from the sun, 
Though loathed by Charity, might ask for justice ! 
Not with the fawning tone and crawling mien 
Of some I see around you — Counts and Princes — 
Kneeling for favors ; — but, erect and loud. 
As men who ask man's rights ! my liege, my Louis, 
Do you refuse me justice — audience even — 
In the pale presence of the baffled Murder ? 

Louis. Lord Cardinal — one by one you have severed from me 
The bonds of human love. All near and dear 
Marked out for vengeance — exile, or the scaffold. 
You find me now amidst my trustiest friends, 
My closest kindred ; — you would tear them from me ; 
They murder you., forsooth, since me they love. 
Enough of plots and treasons for one reign ! 
Home ! Home ! and sleep away these phantoms ! 

Rich, Sire ! 

I patience, Heaven ! sweet Heaven ! Sire, from the foot 

Of that Great Throne, these hands have raised aloft 

On an Olympus, looking down on mortals 

And worshipped by their awe — before the foot 

Of that high throne, — spurn you the gray-haired man, 

Who gave you empire — and now sues for safety ? 

Louis. No: — when we see your Eminence in truth 
At t\iQ foot of the throne — we '11 listen to you. 



328 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

NOTHING IN IT,— Mathews. 

Leech. But you don't laugh, Coldstream ! Come, man, be 
amused, for once in your life. You don't laugh. 

Sir Charles. 0, yes, I do. You mistake^ I laughed twice, 
distinctly — only, the fact is, T am bored to death. 

Leech. Bored ? What ! after such a feast as that you have 
given us? Look at me. I'm inspired. I 'm a king at this 
moment, and all the world is at my feet. 

Sir C. My dear Leech, you began life late. You are a 
young fellow, — forty-five, — and have the world yet before you. 
[ started at thirteen, lived quick, and exhausted the whole 
round of pleasure before I was thirty. I 've tried everything, 
heard everything, done everything, know everything; and here 
I am, a man of thirty-three, literally used up — completely 
blaze! 

Leech. Nonsense, man ! Used up, indeed ! with your wealth, 
with your twenty estates in the sunniest spots in England, — not 
to mention that Utopia, within four walls, in the Eue de Pro- 
ijence^ in Paris. 

Sir C. I 'm dead with ennui. 

Leech. Ennui ! poor Croesus ! 

Sir C. Croesus ! — no, T 'm no Croesus. My father, — you 've 
seen his portrait, good old fellow ! — he certainly did leave me a 
little matter of twelve thousand pounds a year; but, after 
all 

Leech. 0, come ! 

Sir C, O, I don't complain of it. 

Leech. I should think not. 

Sir C. 0, no ; there are some people who can manage to do 
on less — on credit. 

Leech. I know several. My dear Coldstream, you should 
try change of scene. 

Sir C. I have tried it. What 's the use ? 

Leech. But I 'd gallop all over Europe. 

Sir C. I have. There 's nothing in it. 

Leech. Nothing in all Europe ? 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 329 

Sir C. Nothing ! Oj dear, yes. I remember, at one time, 
I did, somehow, go about a good deal. 

Leech. You should go to Switzerland. 

Sir C. I have been. Nothing there — people say so much 
about everything. There certainly were a few glaciers, some 
monks, and large dogs, and thick ankles, and bad wine, and 
Mont Blanc ; yes, and there was ice on the top, too ; but I prefer 
the ice at Gunter^s — less trouble, and more in it. 

Leech. Then if Switzerland wouldn't do, I M try Italy. 

Sir C. My dear Leech, I 've tried it over and over again — 
and what then ? 

Leech. Did not Kome inspire you ? 

Sir C. 0, believe me, Tom, a most horrible hole. People 
talk so much about these things I There ^s the Coliseum, now 
— round, very round. — a goodish ruin enough; but I was dis- 
appointed with it. Capitol — tolerably high ; and St. Peter^s — 
marble, and mosaics, and fountains — dome certainly not badly 
scooped ) but there was nothing in it. 

Leech. Come, Coldstream, you must admit we have nothing 
like St. Peter^s in London. 

Sir C, No, because we don't want it ; but if we wanted 
such a thing, of course we should have it. A dozen gentlemen 
meet, pass resolutions, institute, and in twelve months it would 
be run up ; nay. if that were all, we 'd buy St. Peter's itself, 
and have it sent over. 

Leech. Ha, ha ! well said — you 're quite right. TThat say 
you to beautiful Naples ? 

Sir C. Not bad — excellent watermelons, and goodish opera. 
They took me up Vesuvius — a horrid bore I It smoked a good 
deal, certainly, but altogether a wretched mountain — saw the 
crater — looked down, but there was nothing in it. 

Leech. But the bay.? 

Sir C . Inferior to Dublin. 

Leech. The Campagna ? 

Sir G. A swamp. 

Leech. Greece ? 

Sir C. A morass. 
28* 



330 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Leech. Athens ? 

Sir C, A bad Edinburgh. 

Leech. Egypt ? 

Sir C. A desert. 

Leech. The pyramids? 

Sir C. Humbugs ! — nothing in any of them. You bore me. 
Is it possible that you cannot invent something that would make 
my blood boil in my veins, my hair stand on end, my heart beat, 
my pulse rise ; that would produce an excitement, an emotion, 
a sensation, a palpitation ? But no ! 

Leech. I Ve an idea ! 

Sir G. You? What is it? 

Leech. Marry ! ' 

Sir C. Hum ! — well, not bad. There 's novelty about the 

notion; it never did strike me to 0, but no : I should be 

bored with the exertion of choosing. If a wife, now, could be 
had like a dinner — for ordering ! 

Leech. She can, by you. Take the first woman that comes : 
on my life, she'll not refuse twelve thousand pounds a year. 

Sir C. Come, I don't dislike the project; I almost feel 
something like a sensation coming. I haven't felt so excited 
for some time ; it's a novel enjoyment — -a surprise. I'll try it. 



OLD FICKLE AND TRISTRAM FICKLE.— AhLUfGnAM. 

Old Fickle. What reputation, what honor, what profit, can 
accrue to you, from such conduct as yours ? One moment, you 
tell me you are going to become the greatest musician in the 
world, and straight you fill my house with fiddlers. 

Tristram. I am clear out of that scrape now, sir. 

Old F. Then, from a fiddler, you are metamorphosed into a 
philosopher; and, for the noise of drums, trumpets, and haut- 
boys, you substitute a vile jargon, more unintelligible than was 
ever heard at the tower of Babel. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 331 

Tri. You are right, sir. I have found out that philosophy 
is folly ; so I have cut the philosophers, of all sects, from Plato 
and Aristotle down to the puzzlers of modern date. 

Old F. How much had I to pay the cooper, the other day, 
for barrelling you up in a large tub, when you resolved to live 
like Diogenes ? 

Tri. You should not have paid him anything, sir, for the 
tub would not hold. You see the contents are run out. 

Old F. No jesting, sir; this is no laughing matter. Your 
follies have tired me out. I verily believe you have taken the 
whole round of arts and sciences in a month, and have been of 
fifty different minds in half an hour. 

Ti'i, And, by that, shown the versatility of my genius. 

Old F. Don^t tell me of versatility, sir. Let me see a little 
steadiness. You have never yet been constant to anything, but 
extravagance. 

Tri. Yes, sir, one thing more. 

Old F. What is that, sir ? 

Tri. Affection for you. However my head may have wan- 
dered, my heart has always been constantly attached to the 
kindest of parents; and, from this moment, I am resolved to 
lay my follies aside, and pursue that line of conduct which will 
be most pleasing to the best of fathers and of friends. 

Old F. Well said, my boy I well said ! You make me happy 
indeed. (^Patting him on the shoulder.) Now, then, my dear 
Tristram, let me know what you really mean to do. 

Tri. To study the law — 

Old F. The law ! 

Tri. I am most resolutely bent on following that profession. 

Old F, No ! 

Tri, Absolutely and irrevocably fixed. 

Old F. Better and better; I am overjoyed. Why, ^tis the 
very thing I wished. Now I am happy. (Tristram makes 
gestures^ as if speaking.) See how his mind is engaged I 

Tri. Gentlemen of the jury : 

Old F. Why, Tristram— 

Tri. This is a cause — 



332 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Old F. Oh, my dear boy ! I forgive you all your tricks. I 
see something about you now, that I can depend on. 

(Tristram continues making gestures,^ 

Tri. I am for the plaintiff in this cause — 

Old F. Bravo ! bravo ! excellent boy ! I '11 go and order 
your books directly. 

T7'i. 'T is done, sir. 

OldF. What! already? 

Tri. I ordered twelve square feet of books, when I iSrst 
thought of embracing the arduous profession of the law. 

Old F. What ! do you mean to read by the foot ? 

Tri. By the foot, sir^ — that is the only way to become a 
solid lawyer. 

Old F. Twelve square feet of learning ! Well — 

Tri. 1 have likewise sent for a barber — 

Old F. A barber ! What ! is he to teach you to shave 
close ? 

Tri. He is to shave one-half of my head, sir. 

Old F. You will excuse me, if I cannot perfectly under- 
stand what that has to do with the study of the law. 

Tri. Did you never hear of Demosthenes, sir, the x\thenian 
orator ? He had half his head shaved, and locked himself up 
in a coal-cellar. 

Old F. Ah ! he was perfectly right to lock himself up, after 
having undergone such an operation as that. He certainly 
would have made rather an odd figure abroad. 

Tri. I think I see him now, awaking the dormant patriotism 
of his countrymen — lightning in his eye, and thunder in his 
voice — he pours forth a torrent of eloquence, resistless in its 
force — the throne of Philip trembles while he speaks, — he 
denounces, and indignation fills the bosom of his hearers, — he 
exposes the impending danger, and every one sees impending 
ruin, — he threatens the tyrant, they grasp their swords, — he 
calls for vengeance, their thirsty weapons glitter in the air, and 
thousands reverberate the cry. One soul animates a nation, and 
that soul is the soul of the orator. 

Old F. Oh ! what a figure he '11 make in the King's Bench ! 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 333 

But come, I will tell you now what my plan is, and then you 
will see how happily this determination of yours will further it. 
You have (Tristram makes extra vac/ant gestures, as if speak- 
ing^) often heard me speak of my friend Briefwit, the barrister — 

Tri. Who is against me in this cause — 

Old F. He is a most learned lawyer — 

Tri. But, as I have justice on my side — 

Old F. Zounds ! he doesn't hear a word I say ! Why, Tris- 
tram ! 

Tri. I beg your pardon, sir; I was prosecuting my studies. 

Old F. Now attend— 

Tri. As my learned friend observes, — go on, sir, I am all 
attention. 

Old F. Well, — my friend, the counsellor — 

Tri. Say learned friend^ if you please, sir. We gentlemen 
of the law always — 

Old F. Well, well, my learned friend — 

Tri. A black patch ! — 

Old F. Will you listen, and be silent ? 

Tri. I am as mute as a judge. 

Old F. My friend, I say, has a ward, who is very handsome, 
and who has a very handsome fortune. She would make you a 
charming wife. 

Tri. This is an action — 

Old F. Now, I have hitherto been afraid to introduce you 
to my friend, the barrister, because I thought your lightness, 
and his gravity— 

Tri. Might be plaintiff and defendant. 

OM F. But now you are grown serious and steady, and 
have resolved to pursue his profession, I will shortly bring you 
together; you will obtain his good opinion, and all the rest 
follows, of course, 

Tri. A verdict in my favor. 

Old. F. You marry, and sit down happy for life. 

Tri. In the King's Bench. 

Old F. Bravo — ha, ha, ha ! But now run to your study, 



334 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

run to your study, my dear Tristram, and 1^11 go and call upon 
the counsellor. 

Tri, I remove by habeas corpus. 

Old F. Pray have the goodness to make haste, then. 

(^Hurrying him off.^ 

Tri. Grentlemen of the jury, this is a cause — (Exit.) 

Old F, The inimitable boy ! I am now the happiest father 
living. What genius he has! He "11 be lord chancellor one day 
or other, I ^11 dare be sworn, — I am sure he has talents ! Oh, 
how I lono: to see him at the bar ! 



THE TFILi— Anonymous. 



Characters, — Swipes, a brewer ; Currie, a saddler ; Frank Mil- 
LiNGTON and 'Squire Drawl. 

Swipes, A sober occasion, this, brother Currie. Who would 
have thought the old lady was so near her end ? 

Currie, Ah, we must all die, brother Swipes; and those 
who live longest outlive the mo&t. 

Swipes. True, true ; but since we must die and leave our 
earthly possessions, it is well that the law takes such good care 
of us. Had the old lady her senses when she departed ? 

Cur. Perfectly, perfectly. ^Squire Drawl told me she read 
every word of the will aloud, and never signed her name better. 

Swipes. Had you any hint fFoin the ^Squire, what disposi- 
tion she made of her property ? 

Cur. Not a whisper ; the 'Squire is as close as an under- 
ground tomb J but one of the witnesses hinted to me that she 
had cut off her graceless nephew Frank without a shilling. 

Swipes. Has she, good soul, — has she ? You know I come 
in, then, in right of my wife. 

Cur. And I in my own right ; and this is no doubt the rea- 
son why we have been called to hear the reading of the will. 
'Squire Drawl knows how things should be done, though he is 
as air-tight as one of your beer barrels. But here comes the 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 335 

young reprobate. He must be present, as a matter of course, 
you know. (^Enter Frank Millington.) Yomr servant, young 
gentleman. So your benefactress has left you, at last. 

Swipes. It is a painful thing to part with old and good 
friends, Mr. Millington. 

Frank. It is so, sir ; but I could bear her loss better, had I 
not so often been ungrateful for her kindness. She was my 
only friend, and I knew not her value. 

Cur. It is too late to repent. Master Millington. You will 
now have a chance to earn your own bread. 

Swipes. Ay, ay, by the sweat of your brow, as better people 
are obliged to. You would make a fine brewer's boy, if you 
were not too old. 

Cur. ' Ay, or a saddler's lackey, if held with a tight rein. 

Frank. Grentlemen, your remarks imply that my aunt has 
treated me as I deserved. I am above your insults, and only 
hope you will bear your fortune as modestly as I shall mine suh- 
missioehj. I shall retire. {Going, he meets 'Squire Drawl.) 

^Squire. Stop, stop, young man. We must have your pre- 
sence. Good morning, gentlemen ; you are early on the ground. 

Cur. I hope the 'Squire is well to-day ? 

^Squire. Pretty comfortable, for an invalid. 

Swipes. I trust the damp air has not affected your lungs 
again ? 

^Squire. No, I believe not. But since the heirs at law are 
all convened, I shall now proceed to open the last will and testa- 
ment of your deceased relative, according to law. 

Swipes (while the 'Squire is breaking the seal). It is a try- 
ing thing to leave all one's possessions, 'Squire, in this manner. 

Cur. It really makes me feel melancholy, when I look round 
and see everything but the venerable owner of these goods. 
Well did the Preacher say, '' All is vanity." 

'Squire. Please to be seated, gentlemen. (He puts on his 
spectacles^ cjind begins to read slowly.') *' Imprimis : whereas my 
nephew, Francis Millington, by his disobedience and ungrateful 
conduct, has shown himself unworthy of my bounty, and inca- 
pable of managing my large estate, I do hereby give and be- 



336 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

queath all my houses, farms, stocks, bonds, moneys, and property, 
both personal and real, to my dear cousins, Samuel Swipes, of 
Malt street, brewer, and Christopher Currie, of Fly Court, 
saddler." (^The ^Squire takes off his spectacles^ to wipe them.) 

Swipes. Generous creature ! Kind soul ! I always loved 
her. 

Cur. She was good, she was kind; and, brother Swipes, 
when we divide, I think I '11 take the mansion-house. 

Swipes. Not so fast, if you please, Mr. Currie. My wife 
has long had her eye upon that, and must have it. 

Cur. There will be two words to that bargain, Mr. Swipes. 
And, besides, I ought to have the first choice. Did I not lend 
her a new chaise every time she wished to ride ? And who 
knows what influence — 

Swipes. Am I not named first in her will ? and did I not 
furnish her with my best small beer for more than six months ? 
and who knows — 

Frank. Gentlemen, I must leave you. (Going.) 

'Squire (^putting on his spectacles very deliberately). Pray, 
gentlemen, keep your seats ) I have not done yet. Let me see ; 
where was I? Ay, ^^ All my property, both personal and real, 
to my dear cousins, Samuel Swipes, of Malt Street, brewer,^' — 

Swipes. Yes ! 
• 'Squire. " And Christopher Currie, of Fly Court, saddler,'^ — 

Cur. Yes ! 

\Squire. '' To have and to hold, in trust, for the sole and 
exclusive benefit of my nephew, Francis Millington, until ho 
shall have attained the age of twenty-one years ; by which time 
I hope he will have so far reformed his evil habits as that he 
may safely be intrusted with the large fortune which I hereby 
bequeath to him.'' 

Swipes. What's all this? You don't mean that we are hum- 
bugged ? In trust ! How does that appear ? Where is it ? 

'Squire. There; in two words of as good old English as I 
ever penned. 

Cur. Pretty well, too, Mr. 'Squire, if we must be sent for to 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 337 

be made a laughing-stock of. She shall pay for every ride she 
has had out of my chaise, I promise you. 

Swipes, And for every drop of my beer. Fine times, if 
two sober, hard-working citizens are to be brought here to be 
made the sport of a graceless profligate ! But we will manage 
his property for him, Mr. Currie ; we will make him feel that 
trustees are not to be trifled with. 

Cur, That we will. 

^ Sqidre. Not so fast, gentlemen ] for the instrument is dated 
three years ago ; and the young gentleman must be already of 
age, and able to take care of himself. Is it not so, Francis ? 

Frank. It is, your worship. 

^Squire. Then, gentlemen, having attended to the breaking 
of the seal, according to law, you are released from any further 
trouble about the business. 



TEE TRIAL SCENE.-^Srakhfeare, 
Scene from the Merchant of Venice. 

Duke. Antonio and Shylock, both stand forth. 

Portia. Is your name Shylock ? 

Sliylock. Shylock is my name. 

Por. Of a strange nature is the suit you follow; 
Yet in such rule that the Venetian law 
Cannot impugn you, as you do proceed. 
You stand within his danger, do you not ? ( Jb Antonio. 

Antonio. Ay, so he says. 

Por. Do you confess the bond ? 

A)it. I do. 

Por. Then must the Jew be merciful. 

Sliy. On what compulsion must I ? Tell me that. 

Por. The quality of mercy is not strained ) 
It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven 
Upon the place beneath ; it is twice blessed ; 
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes ; 
'Tis mightiest iu the mightiest ; it becomes 
29 Y 



338 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

The throned monarch better than his crown ; 

His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, 

The attribute to awe and majesty, 

Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; 

But mercy is above this sceptred sway, 

It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, 

It is an attribute to God himself; 

And earthly power doth then show likest God's 

When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, 

Though justice be thy plea, consider this — 

That, in the course of justice, none of us 

Should see salvation ; we do pray for mercy ; 

And that same prayer doth teach us all to render 

The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much, 

To mitigate the justice of thy plea ; 

Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice 

Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there. 

Shy. My deeds upon my head 1 I crave the law, 
The penalty and forfeit of my bond. 

Por. Is he not able to discharge the money ? 

Bassanio. Yes, here I tender it for him in the court : 
Yea, twice the sum : if that will not suffice, 
I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er. 
On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart : 
If this will not suffice, it must appear 
That malice bears down truth. And I beseech you 
Wrest once the law to your authority : 
To do a great right, do a little wrong ; 
And curb this cruel villain of his will. 

Por. It must not be ; there is no power in Venice 
Can alter a decree established : 
^Twill be recorded for a precedent ; 
And many an error, by the same example, 
Will rush into the state : it cannot be. 

Shy. A Daniel come to judgment ! yea, a Daniel ! 
wise young judge, how do I honor thee! 

Por. I pray you, let me look upon the bond. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 339 

Sky. Here it is, most reverend doctor, here it is. 

Par. Shylock, there 's thrice thy money offered thee. 

Shy. An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven : 
Shall I lay perjury upon my soul ? 
No, not for Venice. 

Par, Why, this bond is forfeit; 
And lawfully by this the Jew may claim 
A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off 
Nearest the merchant's heart : — Be merciful ; 
Take thrice thy money ; bid me tear the bond. 

Shy. When it is paid according to the tenor. 
It doth appear, you are a worthy judge : 
You know the law, your exposition 
Hath been most sound; I charge you by the law. 
Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar, 
Proceed to judgment: 
There is no power in the tongue of man 
To alter me : I stay here on my bond. 

Ant. Most heartily do I beseech the court 
To give the judgment. 

Por. Why then, thus it is : 

You must prepare your bosom for his knife. 

Shy. noble judge I excellent young man ! 

Por. For the intent and purpose of the law 
Hath full relation to the penalty, 
Which here appeareth due upon the bond. 

Shy. ^Tis very true : wise and upright judge ! 
How much more elder art thou than thy looks ! 

Por. Therefore, lay bare your bosom. 

Shy. Ay, his breast. 

So says the bond : — Doth it not, noble judge ? — 
Nearest the heart — those are the very words. 

Por. It is so. Are there balances here to weigh 
The flesh ? 

Shy. I have them ready. 

Por. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge, 
To stop his wounds, lest he should bleed to death. 



340 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Shi/. Is it SO nominated in the bond? 

Por. It is not so expressed ] but what of that ? 
^Twere good you do so much for charity. 

Shy, I cannot find it ; 'tis not in the bond. 

Por. Come, merchant, have you anything to say ? 

Ant. But little ; I am armed, and well prepared. 
Give me your hand, Bassanio ; fare you well ! 
Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you ] 
For herein Fortune shows herself more kind 
Than is her custom : it is still her use 
To let the wretched man outlive his wealth, 
To view with hollow eye, and wrinkled brow, 
An age of poverty : from which lingering penance 
Of such a misery doth she cut me off. 

Shy. We trifle time ] I pray thee pursue sentence. 

Por. A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine ) 
The court awards it, and the law doth give it. 

Shy. Most rightful judge I 

Por, And you must cut this flesh from off his breast; 
The law allows it, and the court awards it. 

Shy. Most learned judge ! — A sentence ; come, prepare. 

Por. Tarry a little ; — there is something else. 
This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood; 
The words expressly are, a pound of flesh : 
Then take thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh, 
But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed 
One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods 
Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate 
Unto the state of Venice. 

Gratiano. upright judge ! — Mark, Jew ! — learned judge ! 

Shy, Is that the law ? 

Por. Thyself shalt see the act : 

For, as thou urgest justice, be assured 
Thou shalt have justice more than thou desirest. 

Gra. learned judge! — Mark, Jew; — a learned judge! 

Shy. I take this offer then — pay the bond thrice, 
And let the Christian go. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 341 

Bass. Here is the money. 

For. Soft; 

The Jew shall have all justice; — soft; — no haste; — 
He shall have nothing but the penalty. 

Gra. Jew! an upright judge, a learned judge! 

For. Therefore, prepare thee to cut off the flesh ! 
Shed thou no blood, nor cut thou less, nor more, 
But just a pound of flesh : if thou tak'st more, 
Or less, than a just pound — be it but so much 
As makes it light, or heavy, in the substance, 
Or the division of the twentieth part 
Of one poor scruple — nay, if the scales do turn 
But in the estimation of a hair — 
Thou diest, and all. thy goods are confiscate. 

G/^a. A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew 
Now, infidel, I have thee on the hip. 

For. Why doth the Jew pause ! Take thy forfeiture. 

Shi/. Give me my principal, and let me go. 

Bass. I have it ready for thee ; here it is. 

For. He hath refused it in the open court; 
^e shall have merely justice, and his bond. 

Gra. A Daniel, still say I ; a second Daniel I — 
I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. 

Shi/. Shall I not have barely my principal ? 

For. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture, 
To be so taken at thy peril, Jew. 

Shi/. Why then— 

I '11 stay no longer question. 

For. Tarry, Jew; 

The law hath yet another hold on you. 
It is enacted in the laws of Venice — 
If it be proved against an alien, 
That by direct, or indirect attempts, 
He seek the life of any citizen, 
The party 'gainst the which he doth contrive, 
Shall seize one half his goods ; the other half 
Comes to the privy coffer of the state ; 
29* 



342 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

And the offender's life lies in the mercy 
Of the Duke only, Against all other voice. 
In which predicament, I say, thou standest. 
Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the Duke. 

Duke. That thou shalt see the difference of our spirit, 
I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it : 
For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's; 
The other half comes to the general state, 
Which humbleness may drive unto a fine. 

Shy. Nay, take my life and all ; pardon not that : 
You take my house when you do take the prop 
That doth sustain my house ; you take my life 
When you do take the means whereby I live. 

Ant. So please my lord the Duke, and all the court, 
To quit the fine for one half of his goods, 
I am content, so he will let me have 
The other half in use, to render it, 
Upon his death, unto the gentleman 
That lately stole his daughter. 

Duke. He shall do this ; or else I do recant 
The pardon that I late pronounced here. 

Por. Art thou contented, Jew — what dost thou say? 

Shy. I am content. 
I pray you give me leave to go from hence ] 
I am not well : send the deed after me. 
And I will sign it. 

Duke. Get thee gone, but do it. 



FAMILY OBSTINACY.— Skuriban. 

Captain Absolute, in military dress, sitting in his office. 
Enter Sir Anthony, his father. 

Captain Absolute. (^Rises and advances to meet and shake 
the hand of Sir Anthony.) Sir, I am delighted to see you here, 
and looking so well I your sudden arrival at Bath made me ap- 
prehensive for your health. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 343 

Sir A. Yerj apprehensive^ I dare say, Jack. What, you 
are recruiting here, hey ? 

Capt. A. Yes, sir, I am on duty. 

JSir A. Well, Jack, I am glad to see you, though I did not 
expect it ! for I was going to write to you on a little matter of 
business. Jack, I have been considering that I grow old and 
infirm, and shall probably not trouble you long. 

0((pL A. Pardon me, sir, I never saw you look more strong 
and hearty, and I pray fervently that you may continue so. 

Sir A. I hope your prayers may be heard, with all my heart. 
Well, then, Jack, I have been considering that I am so strong 
and hearty, I may continue to plague you a long time. Now, 
Jack, I am sensible that the income of your commission, and 
what I have hitherto allowed you, is but a small pittance for a 
lad of your spirit. 

Capt. A, Sir, you are very good. 

Sir A, And it is my wish, while yet I live, to have my boy 
make some figure in the world. I have resolved, therefore, to 
fix you at once in a noble independence. 

Capt. A. Sir, your kindness overpowers me. Yet^ sir, I pre- 
sume you would not wish me to quit the army ? 

Sir A. Oh ! that shall be as your wife chooses. 

Capt. A. My wife, sir ! 

Sir A. Ay, ay; settle that between you, settle that betweeo 
you. 

Capt. A. A wife, sir, did you say ? 

Sir A. Ay, a wife : why, did not I mention her before ? 

Capt. A. Not a word of her, sir. 

Sir A. Odd so ; I mustn't forget her, though. Yes, Jack, 
the independence I was taking of is by a marriage ; the fortune 
is saddled with a wife : but I suppose that makes no diiference ? 

Capt. A. Sir, sir ! vou amaze me ! 

Sir A. Why, what the deuce is the matter with the fool? 
just now you were all gratitude and duty. 

Capt. A, I was, sir : you talked to me of independence and 
a fortune, but not a word of a wife. 

Sir A. Why, what difl^erence does that make ? Odds life, 



344 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

sir I if you have the estate, you must take it with the live stock 
on it, as it stands. 

Capt. A. Pray, sir, who is the lady ? 

Sir A. What ^s that to you, sir ? come, give me your pro- 
mise to love, and to marry her directly. 

Capt. A. Sure, sir, that is not very reasonable, to summon 
my affections for a lady I know nothing of I 

Sir A. 1 am sure, sir, ^tis more unreasonable in you to ob- 
ject to a lady you know nothing of. 

Capt. A. You must excuse me, sir, if I tell you, once for 
all, that in this point I cannot obey you. 

Sir A. Harkye, Jack ] — I have heard you for some time 
with patience — I have been cool, — quite cool ; but take care ; 
you know I am compliance itself, when I am not thwarted ; no 
one more easily led, when I have my own way ; but don't put 
me in a frenzy. 

Capt. A. Sir, I must repeat it; in this I cannot obey you. 

Sir A. Now, confound me, if ever I call you Jack again 
while I live ! 

Capt. A. Nay, sir, but hear me. 

Sir A, Sir, I won^t hear a word, not a word ! not one word ! 
so give me your promise by a nod, and I '11 tell you what. Jack — 
I mean, you dog — if you don't, by 

Capt. A. What, sir, promise to link myself to some mass of 
ugliness ; to 

Sir A. Zounds ! sirrah ! the lady shall be as ugly as I 
choose : she shall have a hump on each shoulder ; she shall be 
as crooked as the crescent; her one eye shall roll like the bull's 
in Cox's museum ; she shall have a skin like a mummy, and the 
beard of a Jew — She shall be all this, sirrah ! yet I '11 make 
you ogle her all day, and sit up all night, to write sonnets on 
her beauty. 

Capt. A. This is reason and moderation, indeed ! 

Sir A. None of your sneering, puppy ! no grinning, jack- 
anapes ! 

Capt. A. Indeed, sir, I never was in a worse humor for 
mirth in my life. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 345 

Sir A. 'T is false, sir ! I know you are laughing in your 
sleeve; I know you ^11 grin when I am gone, sirrah ! 

Capt. A. Sir, I hope I know my duty better. 

Sir A. None of your passion, sir ! none of your violence, if 
you please ; it won't do with me, I promise you. 

Capt. A. Indeed, sir, I never was cooler in my life. 

Sir A. 'T is a confounded lie ! I know you are in a passion 
in your heart; I know you are, you hypocritical young dog; but 
it won't do. 

Capt. A. Nay, sir, upon my word 

Sir A. So you will fly out ! can't you be cool, like me ? what 
good can passion do ? passion is of no service, you impudent, 
insolent, overbearing reprobate ! there, you sneer again ! don't 
provoke me ! but you rely upon the mildness of my temper, you 
do, you dog ! you play upon the meekness of my disposition ! 
yet, take care ; the patience of a saint may be overcome at last ! 
but mark ! I give you six hours and a half to consider of this : 
if you then agree, without any condition, to do everything on 
earth that I choose, why — confound you I I may in time forgive 
you. If not, zounds ! don't enter the same hemisphere with 
me ! don't dare to breathe the same air, or use the same light 
with me ; but get an atmosphere and a sun of your own : I '11 
strip you of your commission : I '11 lodge a five-and-threepence 
in the hands of trustees, and you shall live on the interest. I'll 
disown you, I'll disinherit you, I'll unget you! and confound 
me ! if ever I call you Jack again ! (Ea-it. 

Capt. A. Mild, gentle, considerate father ! I kiss your 
hands. 



TEE COUNTRY SQ UIRE.-^V ance. 
Squire, George, Horace. 

George. Here we are, sir 1 

Squire. Good ! Resume your seats. ( Thei/ sit^ the Squire 
in the middle.^ I am rich — I am seventy, and I have no heir. 
You two boys being the children of one sister, and your cousin, 



346 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Sophy Herbert, the child of another sister, both of whom have 
preceded me to — in short, you are my nearest living relations. 
Sophy is a dear good girl. She has been, as you know, under 
my roof these two years. (George sighs.) There is nothing 
to sigh about, my friend ; she is very comfortable ; at least, if 
not, it must be her own fault, for she does just as she likes. 

Horace, Upon my life, sir, yours must be a very pleasant 
house to stay in. 

Sq. Sir, you do me infinite honor; but I haven^t time to 
luxuriate in your praises just now. Miss Fanny Markham, and 
your cousin Sophy, will be here shortly; if, therefore, you can 
make it convenient to let me proceed without interruption, I 
shall take it as a personal favor. {They hoio assent.) Consider 
your cousin Sophy provided for. I now come to yourselves. I 
shall deal frankly with you. I have plenty of money to leave 
you both ; but I have sent for you here, because I want to fix 
upon one of you to take my name when 1 die, and to do me the 
honor to inherit the bulk of my estates. (They look at one 
another in astonishment.) Don't stare, but listen. You are 
both good, I dare say, in your ways ; but I want to discover 
which of you is the best man for my purpose. I have now told 
you my object, openly and honestly, as a gentleman ought. If 
you are gentlemen, — and mind, I use the term in its broadest 
sense, — you will answer my questions as openly, and as honestly. 
I have scorned to deceive you ; and, if either of you condescend 
to try to deceive me, depend upon it, — (observing a movement 
on their parts., he continues^) — don't be in a hurry ; I was only 
going to say, depend upon it, I shall find you out. (All rise.) 

Hot. Sir, we pledge our honors. 

Sq, I require no pledge, my friends, no pledge. Besides, 
the honor of a gentleman is a treasure too precious to be lightly 
parted with ; it should be retained within the workshop of his 
mind to gild and beautify each action of his life, ere it passes 
into public observation. G-eorge ! 

Geo. Sir ? 

8q. You are the eldest, I believe ? 

Geo. Ey five years, sir. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 347 

Sq. You are a merchant of the city of London '/ 

Geo. I am, sir. 

Sq. And you take pride in being so ? 

Geo. I do. ' 

Sq. So you ought. But the time approaches when you may, 
perhaps, be called upon to exchange that appellation for another, 
equally honorable — that of an English country gentleman. In 
the hurry of business, I have somehow forgotten to get married, 
until it 's too late. 

Hor. Too late, sir ! Why, you seem as hearty as a man of 
fifty! 

Sq. Don't interrupt me ; and, above all, don't talk nonsense ; 
it is too late, I say } I can't help being an old man ; but I can 
help being an old fool ! I am the last of my name in the 
county. {Sits.) I would do anything, in reason, to oblige my 
friends and neighbors; but I can't live much longer, even to 
accommodate them. Now, I don't relish the notion of removing 
from the family mansion to the family vault, without leaving 
behind me some future Squire upon whom I may depend to carry 
on the war as I have done. Yes, boys, I say, as / have done; 
for when I reflect upon my past life (^becomes affected), I feel 
that I may assert, without fear of contradiction, that I have done 
some little good in my time. (^Rousing himself.) Psha ! This 
is folly ! At my time of life, one needn't lie, even about one's 
self! (^Earnestli/). I have done a great deal of good, and I 
know it ! 

Geo. Everybody about you seems to know it equally well, 
sir. 

Sq. My dear boy, I want no flattery ; I was talking about a 
fact, and I only mentioned that because it came in as a matter 
of business. Now answer you first. Should you like to succeed 
to this place when I die ? 

Geo. I trust that such an event is yet far ofi", sir. 

Sq. Poh ! Poh ! Nonsense ! I shall die none the sooner 
for your talking about it. Answer my question. 

Geo. If I could fill it as you do, sir — yes. 

Sq. Very well. Now, what is to hinder you from doing so? 



348 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Geo, My education and habits. 

Sq. Why, you have had the education of a gentleman. 
Geo. True, sir. 

Sq. Used to habits of business, you must have a good head. 
Geo. For the duties of a merchant I hope I have. 
Sq. And a good heart? 
Geo. Nay, sir ! 

Hor. (^Unaffectedly.^ Let me answer for him there. A 
better-hearted fellow than G-eorge Selwood does not exist ! 

Sq. {Rising ; sharply to Horace.) I told you not to inter- 
rupt me ! {llieyi shaking his hand.') But I can forgive that ! — 
{To George.) And so, sir, you seem to think, upon the whole, 
that my place wouldn't suit you, as the servants say? 

Geo. My dear sir — I know little about horses ; nothing about 
dogs or guns; I neither ride, drive, shoot, nor hunt; and, there- 
fore, upon the whole, honestly I doubt it. 

aS^^'- Then, honestly, I say, you shall have a fair chance of 
changing your opinion. {Takes his hand.) George, your candor 
does you honor. I have rather slender hopes of our friend 
here; but I must try him, now. {All rise; turning to Horace, 
who is playing with his mustaches.) Mr„ Horace Amelius Sel- 
wood ! 

Hor. Sir. 

Sq. If you think there would be .no danger of your head 
falling off your shoulders, perhaps you will let go of those things, 
and attend to me. 

Sor. {Putting down his hands.) With pleasure ! 
Sq. {Imitating him.) With play-jaar I What a queer word 
you make of it ! — {To George.) What does he talk so for? 
Geo. It 's the fashion, sir. 

Sq. Fashion, again ! I observe that everything that is par- 
ticularly ridiculous is the fashion. — {To Horace.) Well, sir, 
you perceive the difficulty in which I am placed ; can you do 
anything to relieve me ? 

Hor. Hang me if I know I 

Sq, I tell you what, young gentlemen, you really are two of 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 349 

the queerest fellows I ever met with I It is not often, I suspect, 
that station and fortune go begging in this manner. 

Hor. Don^t mistake me, sir; I have no objection to the 
money. 

Sq. Haven't you, really ? 

IIo7\ 0, no ; none in life ! In point of fact, I rather like 
it; and I ^11 tell you why. I have rather '' outrun the constable^' 
lately. 

Sq. (A.stonished.) You have done what, sir ? 

Hor. Outrun the constable. 

Sq. (^To GrEORGE.) What on earth has this boy had a con- 
stable after him for ? 

Geo. (^Smiling.) 0, sir, don't be alarmed I Outrunning 
the constable is only a fashionable phrase for spending more 
than one's income. 

Sq. And the offence, I fear, is as fashionable as the phrase. — 
(7^0 Horace.) Then, pray, sir, why don't you jump at such a 
chance as this? 

Hor. Because I haven't the least idea how to be a Squire. 

Sq. Come, that 's honest, at all events ! Are you willing to 
learn ? 

Hor. Is it much trouble ? 

Sq. Less than to be a noodle ! — at least I should think so. 

Hor. Then I '11 try. 

Sq. So you shall. Grive me your hand ! And give me 
yours, G-eorge. Now ! mind this brother of yours engages to 
become my pupil; if I succeed in humanizing him, he will be 
my heir ; if not, i/ou must ! No answer ; for, by Jupiter, one 
of you shall ! 

Geo, Horace will be the man, sir, no doubt. He is younger 
than I am, and his habits are less settled. 

Sq. Much less, seemingly ! — (Aside.) How shall I begin 
with him? — {To Horace.) Can you ride? 

Hor. I flatter myself that 's about the best thing I do ! 

Sq- Then you really are not afraid of a horse ? 

Hor. I 'm afraid of nothing I 
30 



350 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Sq. {Aside.) How one may be deceived by appearances !— 
(^Aloud.) Can you drive ? 

Hor. Grig, curricle^ tandem, unicorn, or four. I have driven 
the coach from London to Brighton about two hundred times. 

^S'^. I'm glad you can drive; but I beg to inform you that 
whoever becomes my heir will be able to make a decent livelihood 
without turning stage coachman ! 

Geo. It isn^t for that, sir — it 's the fashion. 

Sq. {To George.) 0! — {To Horace.) Pray, sir, is it 
the fashion for gentlemen to turn servants of all denominations ? 
Because, although our roads here are well supplied with coach- 
men at present, I have a vacancy for a footman, if that would 
suit you ! 

Eor. That would be degrading. 

Sq. I I beg your pardon. I didn't perceive the distinc- 
tion. Can you shoot ? 

Hor. I can kill eleven birds out of twelve, at thirty yards ; 
for further particulars inquire at the Eed House, Battersea. 

Sq. Is that true ? 

Hor, I never tell a lie ; it 's ungentlemanly. 

Sq. {Aside.) He 's a strange animal ; but there is good 
about the fellow ! — {Aloud.) Now, sir, one thing more, and I 
have done with you for the present. You are short of cash, I 
understand. 

Hor. Excruciatingly ! 

Sq. I want to make a purchase of you. If I give you fifty 
pounds, may I take my choice of any article you have got about 
you? 

Hor. Most willingly ! 

Sq. Enough ! ( Taking out pocket hook.) George ! I lodge 
the money with you; when the goods are delivered, pay the 
vender. 

Geo. But what is the purchase, sir? 

Hor. Ay, what is the purchase ? 

Sq. The growing crop of hair upon your face; with liberty 
to mow, whenever I please. (George laughs — Horace looks 
astonished.) 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 351 

Hot, My whiskers and mustaches ! 

Sq. Even so ! Come, a bargain is a bargain ; away to your 
room. Shave them off clean ! And don't let me see your face 
again, until, until — in short — I can see it. (^Goes up to (able 
and rings bell ; HORACE is going. ^ 

Geo. Horace ! 

Hor. (Turning.) What? 

Geo. (Laughs and imitates shaving.) I say 

Hor. Now be quiet.! {Going.) 

Geo. Horace ! 

Hor. (Peevishly^ turning again.) Well ! What do you 
want ? 

Geo. Look here, old man ! (Holding up note.) 

Hor. Well — to be sure — a fifty is two ponies ; and the hair 
will grow again ! (Exit.) 



SOLD OUT AND BOUGHT IN. 

From the *' Old Still-House," by Mrs. E. D. Gage. Arranged by J. R. 
Stpher. 

Characters. — Mrs. Magoon ; Richard Magoon ; Elsie, and Mr. 
Delno. 

Mrs. Magoon and Elsie. 

Mrs. Magoon. It's no use to weep over it, my child; it 
must be done, and perhaps it 's for the best. Let us drop it 
now, and think of something more cheerful. 

Elsie. I cannot, mother. This old home that you and father 
have toiled upon so long, to be put under the sheriff's hammer 
— and for such a debt ! 

Mrs. M. If it cannot be helped, my dear, is it not better 
wisdom to submit ? A thing that can be helped should never 
be patiently borne, although it cost trial and struggle, and even 
antagonism ) but I see no help for this. Mr. Porter has waited 
a great many years : it is now twenty-five since your father 
borrowed that money. 

Elsie. But, mother, that money was, by every principle of 



352 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

justice, yours. The law is a barbarism — it is monstrous to give 
a man all the property of his wife, all her labor, all her mind, 
all her soul. 

3Irs. M. Women, then, must be careful how they marry. 

Ehie. Careful how they marry ! Rather not marry at all. 
How can any woman know who or what she is marrying ? Could 
any foresight or any care have told you that our once noble 
father would have ever been what he is now? Oh ! with what 
pride and love I remember him as I used to fly to him, ten years 
ago — when he wound his arms round me, and lifted me up for 
a kiss — great girl as I was. He was so noble, so good, so sen- 
sible, so loving. And see what he is now 

Mrs. M, Elsie, my child, he is your father still. 

Elsie. I know it, mother ; but my heart must pour out its 
fulness now, this once, if never more. Next week our home is 
to be sold ] and you, what will become of you and all of us ? 
You have toiled here for twenty-five years, and were the butter 
and cheese, the woollen and linen you have made, piled up 
before you, they would pay for the farm. You have educated 
all of us ; you have washed and cooked, carded and spun : 
you have dried fruit, made the garden, and become the market- 
woman — anything, everything, that we might be clothed, and 
have books, and be brought up respectably; you have never 
made a bad bargain; have never been drunk; never neglected 
a duty — all that human hands, human ingenuity, and human 
patience were permitted to do, under the law, you have done. 
And now what have you to show for it? Without a word 
or explanation, this terrible effect comes upon you from causes 
which you have struggled, day and night, to avert ! I ask 
again, what have you to show for all your labor and self-sacrifice? 
— what individual right do you possess ? 

Mrs. M. I have my children, Elsie, and I hope and trust 
that I have built a home and stored up wealth in their hearts, 
that the sheriff will not be able to put an attachment upon. If 
I am bankrupt there, my child, I shall be poor indeed. I know 
the law is unjust; I know women hold, under it, an inferior and 
degraded position. Could T be permitted to keep the farm and 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 353 

manage it myself, I hav^e no doubt that I could in a few years 
pay all the debts. I love the old place — every shrub, plant, and 
tree is part of myself — it is interwoven with my life, with all 
that is dear, and all that is sad and sorrowful, too. I do not 
love to see it go ; but it must. 

Elde. It must not, and it shall not, mother ; there must be 
some way — I will move heaven and earth, but I will save it for 
you. 

Mrs. M. Elsie, are you strong — able to endure patiently— to 
take up a cross and walk under it for years, for the sake of a 
great good ? For the sake of redeeming your father, would you 
be willing to toil as I have done ? — if you could, put out the fire 
under that boiler, and still the shriek of that engine in the still- 
house, which has, since your childhood, haunted me like the 
cry of spirits damned ! 

Elsie. Yes, mother, I am ready to toil and endure ; to sac- 
rifice ease, self-enjoyment, everything but virtue and truth, if I 
could but accomplish what you suggest, to save my father. Oh ! 
mother, if I could do that we should all be saved. And, 
'mother, I have a plan of my own to save our home. I will tell 
you what it is, and then you can tell me yours. You saw the 
stranger who was here last night. 

Mrs. M. Mr. Delno ? 
■ Elsie, Yes. Well, Ellen told me that it was our old neigh- 
bor, Mike Dugan, who was sent to prison for the murder of poor 
Harry Falconer, as he was going home from the Still-house mad 
with drink. He has reformed and has become very rich; and 
he has repeated to Ellen how much you did for him when he 
was in trouble, and says he is indebted to you for what he is. 
He is so rich and so noble, I thought I would go to him and 
tell him all our troubles. I am of age now, you know, and if a 
wife cannot own property, a woman can ; and I can be a woman 
and no wife a long time if I choose. I am almost sure he will 
loan me the money, and buy the place for me, and then we can 
see what we can do. I will give up my school, come home and 
live with you, aid you, and do all I can ; and I fancy I can do 
more than you think. 

30^ z 



354 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Mrs. 31. You are a brave, blessed child, Elsie ! Four plan 
is what I had in my own mind. I wrote to your brother Frank, 
and hoped he would be here, but it is too late now ; and I was 
almost in despair. The farm must be saved. It must be ours. 
George must be let into our plans, and then we must hold father 
to it. Together I feel that we can accomplish this work, formi- 
dable as it now seems. Elsie, your father must be redeemed ; 
he must not, shall not die a drunkard. (^Exit Mrs. M. 

Enter Mr. Delno. 

■ Elsie. Oh, Mr. Delno, I am so glad you have come ; I had 
just determined to go and see you. 

31r. Delno. Ah, and what can I do for you ? 

Elsie. First sit down — I must submit to you what is in 
reality a matter of life or death. You know, Mr. Delno, my 
mother was the only daughter of the Stocktons. Well, after 
grandfather Stockton died, grandmother married old Porter, 
and, according to the laws of the state, all the property that 
would have been mother's when grandmother died, went to 
Porter, and so not a dollar came to us. Father had borrowed 
from grandfather Stockton a sum of money to pay for our home- 
stead, and it was understood at the time that mother would 
inherit the Stockton estate, and that therefore father need not 
return the money. But now that both grandfather and grand- 
mother Stockton are gone, old Porter has determined to sell us 
out of house and home by the sheriff. You know father's great 
weakness. He is utterly unable to manage his business. During 
the past three years he has not been sober a week at a time, and 
is utterly powerless to protect his family. Therefore, in the 
hour of distress, I have come to you for help. 

Mr. J)elno. I assure you I am not less grateful that I am 
able to assist you than you are that I am willing. I have heard 
of all your trials, and have already determined on a plan for 
your relief. I will attend the sheriff's sale, and will buy the 
place for you, Elsie. 

Elsie. That was just what mother and I had agreed upon as 
the best course to pursue. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 355 

Mr. D. I will have the deed drawn in your name ; you can 
then manage the place for the good of the family, and pay me 
whenever you are able to do so conveniently. You will, of 
course, close up the old still-house, that has been the cause not 
only of all your trouble, but has been the fruitful source of pov- 
erty, misery, strife, crime, and even death, in the whole neigh- 
borhood. 

Elsie. The pulliog down of the still-house shall be my first 
work. I will only thank you now for your generous offer, and 
will hasten to report to mother, for she is in deep distress. 

(^Exit all. 

Music — Temperance Song. 

(^Enter Richard Magoon, and sits hy a table — Enter Elsie.) 

Elsie. Father, I wish to talk with you a few moments. You 
are aware that I am, with the judicious help of mother, to carry 
on the farm; we feel that the still-house has been the sole cause 
of all our misfortunes — of misfortune to the whole neighbor- 
hood. To-day I shall dismiss the hands, and put a stop to the 
making of ardent spirits, and the sound of that engine shall 
never more be heard in this valley. 

Richard. You will put a stop to the only money-making 
thing on the premises. Whiskey never brought so good a price 
as now. 

Elsie. That may be. Whiskey may bring money; but look over 
the farm and see what it has brought with it, or rather what it 
has compelled you to lose. If whiskey is so profitable, why am 
I the legal owner of all you have toiled for so long ? No, father, 
not another drop shall ever be made on the place. 

Rich. What will you do with the fixtures ? They are worth 
thousands of dollars, as much as the farm would sell for with- 
out them. 

Elsie. Let them rot where they are. Ay, fall to staves, every 
hogshead, barrel, and tub, if there is no other way to dispose 
of them. But not another drop of the accursed beverage shall 
be manufactured with them. 

Rich, (jnsing and passing out'). Yery well — have your own 



356 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

way about it. If you think you can run the establishment bet- 
ter than I have done, you can try it. {^Exit all. 

[The dialogue may end here, or the following may be added.] 
Scene, a sewing circle — quilting or carpet-rag party. 
Mrs. Hunt, Miss Ferril, Mrs. Phillips, Mrs. Styles, Mrs. Tur- 
ner, Grandmother Lake, and two or three young girls sitting round the 
table sewing. 

Mrs. Hunt. Lor's help us ! why didn't Frank take the farm, 
if anybody, and not put such a scandalization upon his sister? 
It's mighty unbecoming in her, to be sure, to be going round 
about, and doing business after the still. She does just for all 
the world like men-folks. 

Miss Ferril, I reckon she '11 be a turning out one of them 
there " Womens' Kights,'' that we hear tell on, one of these 
days ; one of them that wants to rule. 

Mrs. Hunt. Shouldn't wonder. Elsie is all-fired smart; I 
know that, and she knows it, too. But I reckon, 'gin she gits 
through with that scrape of stopping the old still, she '11 be tired 
a wearin' the breeches. Old Eichard is a hard old customer, 
and he 's a getting worse and worse. 

Mrs. Phillips. You don't say I I thought he 'd quit drinking. 

Mrs. Turner. Good gracious-! Our Dan, who Miss Elsie had 
up there ploughing for corn, says he 's been ridiculous every day 
since he 's been there. 

Mrs. Hunt. He used to be a mighty clever man when I first 
knowed him ; but I raly believe the nicer, and decenter, and 
smarter a man is, when he is sober, the worse he is when he is 
drunk. 

Mrs. Phillips. You don't say ! Marie Jane, will you hand 
me the thread ? 

Mrs. Turner. I believe it. Just think of him : after he 
has let everything go to ruin as he has, tearin' round like mad, 
and calling his wife and Elsie all sorts of hard names, 'cause 
they 're trying to fix up things. Why, our Dan says he swears 
worse than Old Street; and he was hard to beat, I tell you. 

Marie Jane, Old Street — who was he ? 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 357 

Mrs. Turner. La ! dew tell ! Never heard of Old Street ? 
I thought everybody knowed him. He was a queer old chap 
that travelled about the country, half crazy, begging for whiskey 
— and knowed amost everything, and when he had a mind to, 
could talk like a book. When he was young, he loved a gal 
that married some other feller, and he went beside hisself about 
it, and took to drink. 

Marie Jane. Dear me, how romantic ! 

Mrs. Turner. I guess you would have thought it morantic 
if 3^ouM a seen him sometimes. You never heard such a critter 
to swear in all your born days. Did you never hear of Mrs. 
Brant's giving him a whipping? 

Mrs. Phillips. No — you don't say ! 

Mrs. Turner. You see, Mrs. Brant had a grand party one 
day, and had all the re^jpectahle ladies in the neighborhood. 
There was me and my two twin daughters. Miss Magoon, Miss 
Ferril, Miss Scott, and Miss Bill Lake, and Miss Tom Lake, 
and Miss Uriah Lake, and all the rest of the Lakes, and every- 
body — a hull room-full — and as we were all a settin' talking, who 
should come a walkin' up but Old Street. ^' Betsie,'^ said he to 
Mrs. Brant, " give me some whiskey.^' Mrs. Brant said, '^ No ; go 
'way'' — and then you should have heard him swearing. I never 
heard the like of it. So, Mrs. Brant got up and shut the door. 
And the next thing we see was Old Street coming in the winder 
headforemost with no shirt on his back ; and we women all set 
to screaming, for he was orful mad. But Mrs. Brant, without 
sayin' a word, just went to the cubbard and got out the Colonel's 
rawhide, and she gave him three cuts over his bare shoulders, 
that made him back out quicker. " There, there, Betsie," said 
he, just like a gentleman, '' I '11 get out — don't strike again, I '11 
get out ;" and he got out, and walked off, and never troubled us 
afterwards. 

Grandmother Lake. It's my opinion that if more of 'em 
had the cowhide taken on 'em when they are in their mad fits, 
it would be better for 'em ! {and the old lady snapped off the 
end of her thread spitefully^. 

Miss Ferril. To be sure it would. 



358 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

3frs. Styles (with great dignity). I tell you, if I had a hus- 
band that knew as much as Mr. Magoon, and could be as smart 
and gentlemanly when he has a mind to, and then cut up as he 
does sometimes, wouldn't I ? — would I ? {gritting her teeth^ and 
looking daggers). 

Grandmother Lake. They say he treats the women folks 
orful. 

Mrs, Turner. I do expect he does, from what I can hear; 
^specially since the old still-house has stopped : and our Dan 
says Elsie won't allow a bit of whiskey on the premises, only 
what he gets on the sly. They do say that she let out barrels 
and barrels in the old still. She says there shan't one mite go 
into the field this year; if the corn can't be planted this year 
without whiskey, it must go unplanted. 

Mrs, Ferril. Grood for her ! ( Clapping her hands and run- 
ning the needle into her finger at the same time.') 

Mrs. Styles. Well, all I have to say is, if Elsie and her mo- 
ther make the drunkards living round that old still sober, they 
will do what nobody has done yet. 

Mrs. Hunt. Yes. There's Old Truman, and Randall, and 
Slidell, and Yanhorn, and Bell, and Varnum, and Sansom, drunk 
all the time, and abusin' their wives and starvin' their children, 
that it is perfectly orful. 

Miss Ferril. Well, I believe Elsie will do it. If she stops 
the old still first, it won't be so easy to get whiskey. The men 
will then be sober sometimes, at least, and may be she can rea- 
son with them, then, and persuade them to quit drinking alto- 
gether. 

Grandmother Lake. What a blessed thing that would be ! — 
but I don't b'lieve it can be done — men are orfully perwerse. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 359 

THE OLD STILL-HOUSE— CLOSED FOR EVER. 

From ''Elsie Magoon,"— A Tale of the Past— by Mrs. Frances D. 
Gage. — Arranged by J. R. Sypher. 

Ckaractei's. — Richard Magoon, proprietor of the still-house; Elsie 
Magoon, his wife; Elsie Magoon, their daughter; George Magoon, 
their son ; Alice Magoon, younger daughter. 

[Stage with side-door and sliding scene, or curtain ; table and two 
chairs and arm-chair ; tray, cup and saucer, plate, knife and fork ; pen, 
ink, and paper.] 

Richard Magoon and Elsie his wife. 

JRichard. V/ell, Elsie, another hard week's work is done. 

Elsie. Yes; but not a very profitable one, was it, Richard? 

Rich. r\o. There's the worst set of men , about here, I 
believe, that ever were called together in any one place on the 
face of the earth ! They have half of them been drunk all the 
week; and, for my soul, I can't keep 'em straight. 1 have got 
to have a real overhauling among the hands at the still-house, 
too. Kit is not fit to stay there : he drinks just enough to make 
him devilish, quarrels with everybody, and, they tell me, uses 
his wife shamefully. I saw him whipping little Nelly this morn- 
ing like a brute. His wife undertook to get t\vQ child out of his 
way, and he gave her a kick that sent her staggering against the 
side of the house. 

Ehie. Kicked his wife ! — kicked Abigail, in her condition ! 
Oh, Richard ! is there no way for us to live but by that still- 
house ? — by making whiskey, to blight the happiness of the 
whole neighborhood ? Frank has been telling me to-night about 
things at the still I have seen, too, for myself; and it grows 
terrible. Richard ! Only think how the wives of all these men 
must suffer! Every day I hear of things as bad as those you 
tell me you have seen to-day; and it is awful to me — awful to 
think that we are helping to make all this wrong and crime 
among the people. 

Rich. I am sure we are not responsible for their foolishness. 
No man is obliged to drink, if he don't wish to. I never asked 
one of my hands to take whiskey in payment for a day's work in 



360 AMERICA^' POPULAR SPEAKER. 

my life; and you know. Elsie, no man hates this whole matter of 
dram-drinking more than I do. Besides, I don't see any use of 
always looking at the black side of the picture. There are some 
drinking men hereabouts ; but where would you go to find the 
place where there is a better society, or where greater progress 
has been made than here ? 

Elsie. I know the neighborhood grows — that wealth increases 
with many; how can it be otherwise, in such a beautiful, fertile 
country ? but would not genuine prosperity increase as rapidly 
without your distillery? Are not all these outrages against 
decency and sobriety, just so many blemishes upon our commu- 
nity, that should not and need not be ? And, Richard, to be 
candid, now, is the still-house making you rich among others, 
or are you sacrificing yourself in this work? Ay. Richard, 
sacrificing yourself, and the poor, the weak, the misguided, and 
their helpless families, to make a market for other people's 
products ? 

Rich. Something must be done with com. If I don't use 
it up, somebody else will. Pork, they say, is going to bring a 
better price this fall than it ever has. I intend to buy all the 
hogs I can and fatten them for the eastern market. 

Ehie. For the love of Heaven, then. Richard, give them the 
corn in its natural state ; and if there is a devil in it, let it enter 
the swine, as of old; do not extract it. to make swine of your 
neighbors. I tell you, Richard, there are not ten men about 
here who are not becoming the victims of your still-house ; and 
if it goes on five years longer we shall have a terrible neighbor- 
hood. Just think what schools we have now; what rowdyism; 
what wild young men ! 

Rich. There it is again ! every time we sit down for a chat, 
up comes that same old story — as if my still-house were the 
cause of all. I tell you. Elsie, it^s no use talking; I have 
invested all I'm worth in it. and must go on. If people will be 
fools, it is not my fault ; and I won't bear to be tormented and 
reproached, day in and day out. about what I can't help. You 
can hunt up old Father Peters to talk your nonsense to, if you 
must talk. {Exit all. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 361 

Music — Temperance Song. 
'■ (Enter Mrs. Magoon and Elsie, dressed in walking suits.) 

3Irs. Magoon. We have seen a sad sight to-night, Elsie. 

Elsie. Yes, mother ) and I could not help thinking of what 
might happen in some other home. (^Long pause.) You must 
not die, mother, and leave us alone. 

3Irs. M. I was not thinking of that, Elsie; but you have no 
doubt seen that your father is more given to his habits than 
ever. 

Elsie. Yes, mother. (^Long pause.) 

Mrs. M. Are you frightened, Elsie ? 

Elsie. Frightened ! why, mother, I was never frightened in 
my life when I could see no danger. 

Mrs. M, What makes you walk so fast and breathe so hard? 

Elsie. I am weary and nervous, and I could not shake off a 
strange feeling that the incidents of the night have thrown over 
me. That terrible death-bed scene, and the life of misery it 
has ended, are fearful warnings that I tremble to contemplate. 
( To the audience.) Mrs. Truman was not old — not over fifty- 
five ) and yet her face and form would have proclaimed her 
" three score and ten/' Her eyes were heavy and dim ; care 
and toil and weeping had driven them back and bleared them 
with sorrow till she was old, worn, and weary. And what a life 
she had lived ! The early years of it had been spent by the side 
of one who, when he married her at fifteen, was good and indus- 
trious, and meant to do all he promised. She was a pretty girl 
then, with a heart full to the brim of tenderness and unselfish- 
ness. But she had grown, in the course of these toiling, suffer- 
ing years, hard and petulant and vixenish, often matching him 
in violence and abuse. 

Yet, after all, she had been as good a mother as one plunged 
in her very childhood into matronly cares and duties — from 
which there was no escape or rest — could well be. And what 
had she to encourage her? Truman, kind-hearted and jovial 
when sober, silly and fawning when half sober, and a very 
demon when fully drunk, had made life to her a fearful thing, 
31 



362 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

For thirty long years she never went from home ; but washed 
and ironed, and spun and wove. Day and night, year in and 
out, was heard the cUck of her loom or the buzz of her 
spinning-wheel. She had scolded in the beginning, because 
she thought scolding would mend matters ; because a troop of 
children, full of life and mischief, who had nothing to do, and 
nothing to do it with, were always doing the very thing they 
should not ; and because she had no time to reason with them, 
and did not know how to do it if she had, she strove to govern 
by screams and threats. She loved her children, toiled for 
them, saved for them, denied herself everything for them. And 
her husband, '^Drunken old Truman,^' as all the neighborhood 
called him, always had a clean whole suit for Sundays, no 
matter how poor and old it might be ; and if she scolded some- 
what to get it on, it was love that stirred her tongue, pride, and 
a lingering hope, that struggled against all hope, that she could 
still make the husband of her youth, and the father of her 
children, a little bit respectable. And those twelve children 
that for these many years have hung upon her while she strug- 
gled, and toiled, and wept, and scolded, and suffered — those 
twelve children — the drunkard's children — every one of them 
bore, in some form, the brand of the father's sins — every one, 
more or less, the impress of the mother's trials and sorrows. 

And now, when this poor woman was brought, through years 
of anxious toil and consuming woe, to the verge of death, her 
husband, whose habits of intemperance had made her life a life 
of wretchedness, comes staggering drunk to her bed to torment 
her even in the hour of death ; and when his own children 
attempted to lead him away, the poor dying wife whispered, 
^' No, no, let him stay; I loved him once — yes, once — I love 
him still. But whiskey, Elsie ] you know — yes, you know ] it 's 
whiskey, Martha — Reuben. Take care of him when I am 
gone. I loved him once ; he was so handsome and good, and 
be loved me, too. I was happy once — the birds sang and the 
sun shone so brightly that morning.^' Thus, in the moment of 
dissolution, the tried spirit had stricken out the long weary 
years of suffering and sorrow, and had linked itself with the 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 363 

freshness and purity of its early youth — to that day and time 
when her soul was nearest heaven — when Nellie had fastened 
the emblem of purity over her beating heart, and led her 
away to become the bride of one whom she loved with all a 
woman's true devotion. What might have been her life — how 
much that is good and beautiful might have budded and 
blossomed in so true a soul, had he walked by her side in 
soberness and good faith to the end ? It had taken twenty-five 
years for that " Old Still House'' to crush out the life of that 
strong, brave, though erring woman. Erring, did I say? Will 
the recording angels set down against her the sins of a life so 
filled with trial and temptation ? Will God, when he makes up 
his jewels, find no diamond amid the rubbish of such a life, 
where faith and hope and labor linked all the hours of a 
quarter of a century with unfailing love and unrequited toil ? 

(^Taming to her mother.) Oh, mother, mother, how we have 
labored and prayed to avert a similar catastrophe from our own 
home ! Providence seems to be answering our petitions every- 
where but in this one object, where we most earnestly seek for 
a blessing. What shall we do next ? 

Mrs, M. I have prayed, my child, and I know that the time 
will come. Yes, I know it; and my heart is ready, cheerfully 
to bear and sufi"er, until the hour arrives. 

Elsie. I am ready to bear, mother ; but not cheerfully. I 
cannot cheerfully see my father sinking lower and lower every 
day. 

Mrs. M. You know what I mean ; to fret and wear faces of 
gloom would only waste our own energies, and weaken the 
courage of the rest. We must keep up, or all is lost. I fear 
we shall have a scene to-night when we get home. He has been 
down at the town all day ; and you know he always comes home 
furious from there ] and when he finds us both gone, and no 
warm supper prepared for him, he will be the more so. 

Elsie. And we forgot to tell Alice ! 

Mrs. M. Yes, and she is thoughtless. 

Elsie. See, there are lights in every window ! — ^I am 
frightened now, mother ! 



364 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

{Behind the scene — EiCHARD Magoon, Alice, George — 
Richard^ in a drunken maudlin voice. Whereas yo-you your 
mother, an — an — and El-lsie.) 

Mrs. M. Hush — what is he saying? Oh, what curses he is 
pouring on the heads of those poor children ! Listen ! (^Behind 
the scene. Rich. You^re a set of devilish brats, just like your 
mother, every one of you, and 1^11 — 1^11 — confound you, I'll 
not stand it. Here I come home at night and find her trapesing 
oiF to neighbors, and no supper. iVnd, zounds! I'll kill her — 
yes, I will. 1^11 put her where Truman's old hag will be turned 
now, about six foot under ground. Alice invoice of a child.) 
Oh, father ! Rich. Shut up ; nobody ^s going to hurt you. 
But just let her show her face.) 

(^The scene or curtain separ-ating the parties is removed.} 

Mrs. M. (stepping for war d). Eichard, I am here. 

Rich. You old devil, I ^11 teach you to tell your brats to talk 
to me as that imp has to-night. 

(Richard staggers violently towards Mrs. M., hrandishing a 
carving-knife ; she retreats^ and George seizes his father from 
behind, holds his arms, while Elsie wrenches the knife from, his 
hands. They hold him a short time, when he sinks to the floor 
in a drunken stupor. The whole family, Mrs. M., Elsie, 
George, and Alice, then take up Kichard and carry him off 
the stage to another room — where he is left to get sober — and the 
family returns to the stage.) 

Geo. He will certainly kill you, mother, if he goes on in this 
way f he is perfectly mad when he is as he was to-night. 

Mrs. M. I never knew him so furious before. 

Elsie. But you will see him so again, and he has threatened 
you so often, that I feel there is danger; and we cannot afford 
to give you, too, a martyr to the demon Intemperance. 

Geo, No, nor any of us ; the cattle and horses are not safe 
either. He is the biggest brute of them all. 

Mrs. M. Hush, hush, George; you must not speak so, my 
son. Let him be what he will, you can still be respectful. 

Geo. I feel it, mother, and I ean^t help it. He struck Alice 
to-night, oh, such a blow ! It would have felled her to the floor 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 365 

if I had not warded it off. Look at my arm {shows a brnue on 
his arm), had the blow fallen with all its force on Alice it would 
nearly have killed her. I say, go and swear your lives against 
him. 

Ulsie. And what good will that do ? It will only spread 
our disgrace; and besides, he has nothing to pay a fine, and 
anybody in the country will go his bail; he is so good and noble 
when he is sober, nobody will believe us if we tell them how 
badly he acts at home. 

Mrs, M. No! We must not talk of such a thing. What is 
done must be done here at home. Alas ! can we do anything ? 

Elsie. Nothing, unless we can get father thoroughly sober, 
which he has not been for months, even years. If we can 
accomplish that — can keep him from drink, in any way, long 
enough to have his re-ason* onc« take possession, I believe we 
could save him; and it shall be done. Now, mother, go lie 
down and rest till daybreak. Go, Alice and George, you need 
rest. {Exit Mrs. M., Alice, and George.) 

{Elsie alone.) If I can keep him where he is until he gets 
duly sober, and then reason with him, I am sure he will quit. 
He will not dare expose us again to such dangers as he has 
to-night. But how can I come face to face, and reason with my 
father over his shame and madness ? I cannot. But I can 
write. {Sits down and writes — folds the letter and leaves it on 
the tahle. Exit.) 

{Musicj '' Speah Gently, ^^ to he sung hy a glee cluh.) 

{Enter Mrs. M. and Elsie, Elsie carrying a tray containing 
a cup of tea and a piece of toast.) 

Elsie. Here, mother {taking up the letter from the tahle) is 
the letter I wrote last night to father. I will read to you. 

{Reads.) 

^^ Oh ! my father, there is a suffering that goes even beyond 
the misery of the crime and sin of the one who inflicts it. 
Could you see dear mother, as I see her, defending your name 
and honor, pointing us back to the time when you were the sun 
and glory of our home ; could you see her tears of sorrow now, 
her nights of suffering, hear her pleadings of hope, and with 
31* 



366 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

how strong a spirit she resists despair, you would, for her sake, 
if not for your own, turn aside from that path beset with devils, 
which you have chosen. Oh ! by the love you once bore us, be 
a man again ; be as you were when I used to climb on your knee 
and kiss your lips — which had not then cursed me, — as when I 
stood upon your knee, and with tiny fingers smoothed out thovse 
silken curls, that now lie sodden and matted upon your brow, 
because no hand of love dare approach you. Oh ! be again, as 
when you used to sing your beautiful songs, at twilight, upon 
the old door-stone, till my little heart melted in ecstasy, I scarce 
knew why, upon your bosom, and swelled out in thankfulness to 
God that he had made me the daughter of such a father. Do 
not curse us that we have turned the key upon you ; it was 
love — the love of children for their father and mother, that 
prompted us. Eeflect that you have been a maniac for months, 
and that, unless you can be induced to let your brain regain its 
true temperature, and your reason return once more, you will 
never be free. Suppose the heavy blow, which has so bruised 
George, had fallen on the head of our dear, delicate Alice, as 
you designed. Suppose that knife — used for years to cut the 
bread that supplied the household-table — had reached the heart 
of our mother, as you intended it should, — a key would have 
been turned on you, a more inexorable jailor would have held 
it — than any of those who now only wish to save you for them- 
selves and for yourself, can ever be. We would rather yield our 
own lives, if, by so doing., we could make yours pure, than to see 
you live out a few more shameful years, (j drunkard! Oh, my 
father I my father a drunkard ! To save the farm ; to save my 
mother from beggary and ruin ] to preserve the younger children 
from being scattered as outcasts over the earth, I have dared to 
do what many women would have thought impossible. But with 
God's help I will pay for it all, asking only, as a recompense, 
that my father in his old age shall live under the trees he has 
planted, and eat the fruit of the vines which in his stalwart 
manhood he trained, an honored and respected man. 

" Elsie.'' 
I will put this on the tray and leave it in father's room. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 367 

(Elsie tahe^ vp the troy and passes outy Mrs. M. he^ids for- 
ward to listen while Elsie is out — Elsie returns.) 

Elsie. I placed the tray on the table; he is in a sound sleep. 

{Exit all. 
Music. 

{Enter Mrs. M., supporting RiCHARD, dressed as an invalid 
and quite iveak. She places him on an easy chair.) 

Rich. {In a weak voice, as one who has been severely ill.) 
Elsie, let me see, it is six weeks since I was taken down. Mrs. 
Truman had died the day before, I believe ; what became of 
the family ? 

3Irs. M. Oh, they are doing finely. Truman promised me, 
at his wife's funeral, that he would not drink any more ; and 
Keuben made the same pledge over the dead body of his 
mother ; and they have not drank since. They worked for us 
through harvest and did well. They are both good hands when 
sober; and not a drop of anything stronger than water went into 
the field to tempt them. 

Rich. Thank God for that. 

Mrs. M. Elsie rented them those twenty acres over the run, 
you know, and they have girdled and cleared it ofi*, and have 
raised a fine crop of pickles and turnips. The boys all work. I 
have persuaded Truman to let Israel learn the blacksmith trade 
with Randall. 

Rich. And is Randall sober enough, now-a-days, to teach a 
boy a trade ? 

Mrs. M. Yes, indeed. After the Still-House went down, a 
new state of things arose from its ashes. 

Rich. What! has the Still-House been destroyed? 

Mrs. M. Why, Richard, you know, the place was seized by 
the sheriff" on old Porter's suit for that old debt, and soon after 
you were taken down it was sold. Mr. Delno bought it in for 
Elsie, and she is now managing it and doing remarkably well. 
The very first thing she did after the sale had been confirmed, 
was to discharge all the hands at the Still- House, and to stop 
work there for ever. She had the machinery torn out, and the 
building is now occupied as a dwelling for our farmer. 



368 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Rich. Is it possible that so great a change could be made in 
so short a time ? 

Elsie. Oh, yes ] and this is the smallest part of what has 
been done. As I was saying, after the Still-House was closed, 
the men who spent their time in drunken quarrels began to 
work and provide for their suffering families. Randall seldom 
drinks now. Israel works well, Thomas is learning the shoe- 
maker's trade in Smithville, and the girls are managing nicely 
at home. She had no hope while the old man behaved so 
badly; but now all seem willing to work. The house has been 
repaired^ and they are really comfortable. 

Rich. How are all the rest of the neighbors ? and what has 
become of Slidell, and Vanhorn, and Bell, and Samson, and the 
others who lived over the creek? Now that the Still-House is 
done for, how do they get drink ? 

Mrs. M. Bell and Yanhorn moved off, nobody knows where, 
and the others have joined the Temperance Society, which 
meets once a week at the school-house. Oh, there has been a 
great change in the neighborhood, I can tell you. We inquired 
for the poor and needy, -last Tuesday night, in our temperance 
meeting, and found that there was not one in the township — the 
whole people have become temperate. We have great cause to 
thank Providence for the change. 

Rich. Thank Elsie Magoon amd her daughter Elsie first. It 
is wonderful how much good two earnest Christian women may 
accomplish in a short time, when laboring in a righteous cause. 

(^Enter Elsie, G-eorge, and, Alice, and stand hy the chairs 
on which BiCHARD and Mrs. M. are sitting^ and all sing ^joined 
hy the audience if desirable^ 

Praise God from whom all blessings flow, 
Praise him all, creatures here below — 
Praise him above, ye angelic host, 
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 369 

SAM WELLERS ACCOUNT OF AN ELECTION— Dickens, 
Mr. Pickwick; Sam Weller. 

Scene: Mr. Pickwick's Chamber. — Mr. Pickwick at his toilet. 
Enter Sam. 

il/r. Flckwich. Well, Sam, all alive to-day, I suppose ? 

Sa7)i. Eeg'lar game, sir; our people's a col-lectin' down at 
the Town Arms, and they're a hollerin' themselves hoarse 
already. 

Mr. P. Ah, do they seem devoted to their party, Sam ? 

Sam, Never see such dewotion in my life, sir. 

Mr. P. Energetic, eh ? 

Sam. Uncommon. I never see men eat and drink so much 
afore. I wonder they ain't afeerd o' bustin'. 

Mr. P. That's the mistaken kindness of the gentry here. 

Sam. Wery likely. 

Mr. P. (^Looking out of the window.^ Fine, fresh, hearty 
fellows they seem. 

Sam. Wery fresh ; me and the two waiters at the Peacock 
has been a pumpin' over the independent woters as supped there 
last night. 

Mr. P. Pumping over independent voters ! 

Sam. Yes ; every man slept vere he fell down ; we dragged 
^em out, one by one, this mornin', and put 'em under the pump, 
and they 're in reg'lar fine order now. Shillin' a head the com- 
mittee paid for that 'ere job. 

Mr. P. Can such things be ! 

Sam. Lord bless your heart, sir, v^hy, where was you half 
baptized? That's nothin', that ain't. 

Mr. P. Nothing ? 

Samfi. ^ Nothin' at all, sir. The night afore the last day o' 
the last election here, the opposite party bribed the bar-maid at 
the Town Arms to hocus the brandy and water of fourteen un- 
polled electors as was a stoppin' in the house. 

Mr. P. What do you mean by '^hocussing" brandy and 
water ? 

2a 



370 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Sam. Puttin^ laud'num in it. Blessed if she didn't send 
'em all to sleep till twelve hours arter the election was over. 
They took one man up to the booth, in a truck, fast asleep, by 
way of experiment; but it was no go — they wouldn't poll him; 
so they brought him back, and put him to bed again. 

Mr. F. (^M as in git/.) Strange practices these. 

Sam. Not half so strange as a miraculous circumstance as 
happened to my own father, at an election time, in this wery 
place, sir. 

Mr. F. What was that ? 

Sam. Why, he drove a coach down here once. 'Lection 
time came on, and he was engaged by vun party to bring down 
woters from London. Night afore he was a going to drive up, 
committee on t'other side sends for him quietly, and away he 
goes vith the messenger, who shows him in ; large room — lots 
of gen'r m'n — heaps of papers, pens, and ink, and all that 'ere. 
*' Ah, Mr. Weller," says the gen'i'm'n in the chair, " glad to see 
you, sir; how are you?" '^ Wery well, thank'ee, sir," says my 
father; ^' I hope you're pretty middlin'," says he. "Pretty 
well, thank'ee, sir," says the gen'i'm'n ; "sit down, Mr. Weller — 
pray sit down, sir." So my father sits down, and he and the 
gen'i'm'n looks wery hard at each other. " You don't remember 
me?" says the gen'i'm'n. "Can't say I do," says my father. 
^'0, I know you," says the gen'i'm'n; " knowed you wen you 
was a boy," says he. " Well, I don't remember you," says my 
father. "That's wery odd," says the gen'i'm'n. "Wery," 
says my father. " You must have a bad mem'ry, Mr. Weller," 
says the gen'i'm'n. ^' Well, it is a wery bad ^un," says my 
father* "I thought so," says the gen'i'm'n. So then they 
pours him out a glass of wine, and gammons him about his 
driving, and gets him into a reg'lar good humor, and at last 
shoves a twenty pound note in his hand. "It's a wery bad 
road between this and London," says the gen'i'm'n. "Here 
and there it is a heavy road," says my father. " 'Specially near 
the canal, I think," says the gen'i'm'n. " Nasty bit, that 'ere," 
says my father. " Well, Mr. Weller," says the gen'i'm'n, 
" you 're a wery good whip, and can do what you like with your 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 371 

horses, we know. We ^-e all wery fond o' you, Mr. Weller; so 
in case you should have an accident when you ^re a bringiu' these 
here woters down, and should tip ^em over into the canal without 
hurtin^ of 'em. this is for yourself/' says he. ^' Gen'l'm'n, you 're 
wery kind/' says my father, " and I '11 drink your health in 
another glass of wine," says he; wich he did, and then buttons 
up the money, and bows himself out. You wouldn't believe, sir 
{looking saucili/ at Mr. Pickwick), that on the wery day as he 
came down with them woters, his coach was upset on that 
'ere wery spot, and ev'ry man on 'em was turned into the 
canal. 

Mr. P. (Quicklj/.) And got out again? 

Sam. {Very slowly.) Why, I rather think one old genTrn'ri 
was missin' ; I know his hat was found, but I ain't quite certain 
whether his head was in it or not. But what I look at is the 
hex-traordinary and wonderful coincidence, that arter what that 
gen'l'm'n said, my father's coach should be upset in that wery 
place, and on that wery day ! 

Mr. P. It is no doubt a very extraordinary circumstance 
indeed. But brush my hat, Sam, for I hear Mr. Winkle calling 
me to breakfast. 



SAM WELLER AS A WITNESS.— Dickens. 

Mr. Justice Stareleigh; Sergeant Buzfuz ; Sam Weller. 

Scene: A Court Room. 

Buzfuz. Call Samuel Weller. 

(Sam steps forward^ takes his place on the witness stand, places 
his hat on the floor ^ and coolly surveys the court.) 

Judge. What's your name, sir? 

Sam. Sam Weller, my lord. 

Judge. Do you spell it with a Y or a W ? 

Sam. That depends upon the taste and fancy of the speller, 
my lord. I never had occasion to spell it more than once or 
twice in my life — but I spells it with a ^' V." 



372 , AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Voice from distant part of the room. Quite right, too, Sam- 
ivel — quite right. Put it down a 2^e, my lord — put it down a 
we. 

Judge. {Looking up.^ Who is that, who dares to address 
the court? — (^To Sam.) Do you know who that was, sir? 

Sam. I rayther suspect it was my father, my lord. 

Judge, Do you see him here now ? 

Sam. {Looking up to the ceiling.') No, I don't, my lord. 

Judge. If you could have pointed him out, I would have 
committed him instantly. 

(Sam hoius^ and turns to BuZFUZ.) 

Buz. Now, Mr. Weller. 

Sam. Now, sir. 

Buz. I believe you are in the service of Mr. Pickwick, the 
defendant in this case. Speak up, if you please, Mr. Weller. 

Sam. I mean to speak up, sir. I am in the service o' that 
'ere gen'l'm'n, and a wery good service it is. 
' Buz. Little to do, and plenty to get, I suppose? 

Sam. 0, quite enough to get, sir, as the soldier said, ven 
they ordered him three hundred and fifty lashes. 

Judge. You must not tell us what the soldier, or any other 
man, said, sir — it's not evidence. 

Sam, Wery good, my lord. 

Buz, Do you recollect anything particular happening on the 
morning when you were first engaged by the defendant — eh, Mr. 
Weller ? 

Sam. Yes, I do, sir. 

Buz. Have the goodness to tell the court what it was. 

Sam. 1 had a reg'lar new fit-out o' clothes that mornin\ 
and that was a wery partickler and uncommon circumstance vith 
me in those days. 

Judge. {Angrily.') You had better be careful, sir. 

Sam. So Mr. Pickwick said at the time, my lord ; and I 
was wery careful o' that 'ere suit o' clothes — wery careful indeed, 
my lord. 

(Judge looks sternly at Sam, and motions BuzFUZ to go on.) 

Buz. Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Weller, that you saw 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 373 

nothing of this fainting on the part of the plaintiff in the 
arms of the defendant, which you have heard described by the 
witnesses ? 

Sam. Certainly not. I was in the passage till they called 
me up, and then the old lady was not there. 

Buz, Now attend, Mr. Weller. You were in the passage, 
and yet saw nothing of what was going forward. Have you a 
pair of eyes, Mr. Weller ? 

Sam. Yes, I have a pair of eyes — and that's just it. If 
they wos a pair o' patent double million magnifyin' gas micro- 
scopes of hextra power, p^-aps I might be able to see through a 
flight o^ stairs and a deal door; but bein' only eyes, you see, my 
wision 's limited. 

(Judge smiles^ Buzfuz loohs vexed^ turns and consults his 
notes, and continues.) 

Buz. Now, Mr. AYeller, I'll ask you a question on another 
point, if you please. 

Sam. If you please, sir. 

Buz. Do you remember going up to Mrs. Bardell's house one 
night in November last ? 

Sam. 0, yes — wery well. 

Buz. 0, you do remember that, Mr. Weller. I thought we 
should get at something at last. 

Sam. I rayther thought that, too, sir. 

Buz. Well, I suppose you went up to have a little talk about 
this trial— eh, Mr. Weller? 

Sam. I went up to pay the rent; but we did get a talkin' 
about the trial. 

Buz. 0, you did get a talking about the trial. Now, what 
passed about the trial ? Will you have the goodness to tell us, 
Mr. Weller ? 

Sam. Yith all the pleasure in life, sir. Arter a few unim- 
portant obserwations from the two wirtuous females as has been 
examined here to-day, the ladies gets into a wery great state o' 
admiration at the honorable conduct of Mr. Dodson and Fogg — 
them two gen'rm'n as is settin' near you now. 

Buz. The attorneys for the plaintiff. AVell, they spoke in 
32 



374 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

high praise of the honorable conduct of Messrs. Dodson and 
Fogg, the attorneys for the plaintiff — did they ? 

Scmi. Yes; they said what a wery gen'rous thing it was o' 
them to have taken up the case on spec, and to charge nothin^ 
at all for costs, unless they got ^em out o' Mr. Pickwick. 

Buz. {Confused^ and turninij to the JuDGE.) It's perfectly 
useless, my lord, attempting to get at any evidence through the 
impenetrable stupidity of this witness. I will not trouble the 
court by asking him any more questions. — (^To Sam.) Stand 
down, sir. 

Sam. Would any other gen'Tm^n like to ask me anythin^ ? 

Buz. (^Waving Ms hand impatiently.^ You may go down, 
sir. 



THE QUARREL ADJUSTED.— Sheridan. 

Enter Captain Absolute. 

Captain Absolute. 'T is just as Fag told me, indeed ! — 
Whimsical enough, ^faith ? My father wants to force me to 
marry the very girl I am plotting to run away with I He must 
not know of my connection with her yet awhile. He has too 
summary a method of proceeding in these matters ; however, 
I '11 read my recantation instantly. My conversion is something 
sudden, indeed; but, I can assure him, it is very sincere — So, 
so, here he comes — he looks plaguy gruff ! 

Enter Sir Anthony Absolute. 

Sir Anthotuy. No — I '11 die sooner than forgive him ! *Die, 
did I say ? I '11 live these fifty years to plague him. At our 
last meeting his impudence had almost put me out of temper — 
An obstinate, passionate, self willed boy ! Who can he take 
after? This is my return for getting him before all his brothers 
and sisters! for putting him, at twelve years old, into a march- 
ing regiment, and allowing him fifty pounds a year, besides bis 
pay, ever since! But I have done with him — he's anybody's 
son for me — I never will see him more — never — never — never- 
never. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 375 

Capt. A. Now for a penitential face ! (^Aside. 

Sir A. Fellow, get out of my way ! 

Capt. A. Sir, you see a penitent before you. 

Sir A. I see an impudent scoundrel before me. 

Capt. A. A sincere penitent. I am come, sir, to acknow- 
ledge my error, and to submit entirely to your will. 

^^V A. What's that? 

Capt. A. I have been revolving, and reflecting, and consi- 
dering on your past goodness, and kindness, and condescension 
to me. 

Sir A, Well, sir? 

Capt. A. I have been likewise weighing and balancing what 
you were pleased to mention concerning duty, and obedience, 
and authority. 

Sir A. Well, puppy ? 

Capt. A. Why, then, sir, the result of my reflections is, a 
resolution to sacrifice every inclination of my own to your satis- 
faction. 

Sir A. Why, now you talk sense, absolute sense ; I never 
heard anything more sensible in my life. Confound you ! you 
shall be Jack again. 

Capt. A. I am happy in the appellation. 

Sir A. Why, then. Jack, my dear Jack, I will now inform 
you who the lady really is. Nothing but your passion and vio- 
lence, you silly fellow, prevented me telling you at first. Pre- 
pare, Jack, for wonder and rapture — prepare ! What think you 
of Miss Lydia Languish ? 

Capt. A. Languish ! What, the Languishes of Worcester- 
shire ? 

Sir A. Worcestershire ! no. Did you never meet Mrs. 
Malaprop, and her niece. Miss Languish, who came into our 
country just before you were last ordered to your regiment ? 

Capt. A. Malaprop I Languish I I don't remember ever to 
have heard the names before. Yet. stay, I think I do recollect 
something — Languish — Languish — She squints, don't she? — A 
little red-haired girl ? 

Sir A. Squints I — A red-haired girl ! Zriiinds. no! 



376 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Capi. A. Then I must have forgot; it can't be the same 
person. 

Sir A. Jack, Jack ! what think yon of blooming, love- 
breathing seventeen ? 

Cajpt. A. As to that, sir, I am quite indifferent; if I can 
please you in the matter, 't is all I desire. 

Sir A. Nay, but Jack, such eyes ! such eyes, so innocently 
wild, so bashfully irresolute, not a glance but speaks and kindles 
some thought of love ! Then, Jack, her cheeks ! her cheeks, 
Jack ! so deeply blushing at the insinuations of her tell-tale 
eyes ! Then, Jack, her lips ! 0, Jack, lips smiling at their own 
discretion ! and, if not smiling, more sweetly pouting — more 
lovely in sullenness! Then, Jack, her neck ! 0, Jack, Jack ! 

Capt. A. And which is to be mine, sir, the niece or the 
aunt ? 

Sir A. Why, you unfeeling, insensible puppy, I despise you. 
When I was of your age, such a description would have made 
me fly like a rocket. The aunt, indeed ! Odds life ! when I 
ran away with your mother, I would not have touched anything 
old or ugly, to gain an empire. 

Copt. A, Not to please your father, sir ? 

Sir A, To please my father — Zounds ! not to please — 0, my 
father — Oddso 1 — Yes, yes ; if my father, indeed, had desired — 

that^s quite another matter Though he wasn't the indulgent 

father that I am. Jack. 

Capt. A. I dare say not, sir. 

Sir A. But, Jack, you are not sorry to find your mistress is 
so beautiful ? 

Copt. A. Sir, I repeat it, if I please you in this affair, ^tis 
all I desire. Not that I think a woman the worse for being 
handsome; but, sir, if you please to recollect, you before hinted 
something about a hump or two, one eye, and a few more graces 
of that kind — now, without being very nice, I own I should 
rather choose a wife of mine to have the usual number of limbs, 
and a limited quantity of back : and, though one eye may be 
very agreeable, yet, as the prejudice has always run in favor of 
two, I would not wish to affect a singularity in that article. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 377 

Sir A. What a phlegmatic sot it is ! Why, sirrah, you are 
an anchorite ! A vile, insensible stock ! You a soldier ! you're 
a walking block, fit only to dust the company's regimentals on ! 
Odds life, I Ve a great mind to marry the girl myself ! 

Capt. A. I am entirely at your disposal, sir; if you should 
think of addressing Miss Languish yourself, 1 suppose you 
would have me marry the aunt; or, if you should change your 
mind, and take the old lady, — 'tis the same to me, I'll marry 
the niece. 

Sir A. Upon my word, Jack, thou'rt either a very great hypo- 
crite, or — but, come, I know your indifference on such a subject 
must be all a lie. I'm sure it must — come, now, hang your de- 
mure face, come, confess, Jack, you have been lying — ha'n't 
you ? You have been playing the hypocrite, hey ? — I'll never for- 
give you, if you ha'n't been lying and playing the hypocrite. 

Oapf. A. I 'm sorry, sir, that the respect and duty which I 
bear to you should be so mistaken. 

Sir A. Hang your respect and duty ! But, come along with 
me, I'll write a note to Mrs. Malaprop, and you shall visit the 
lady directly. Her eyes shall be the Promethean torch to you — 
come along, I '11 never forgive you, if you don't come back stark 
mad with rapture and impatience — if you don't, 'egad I '11 
marry the girl myself. 



CONJUGAL QUAREELS.—SHEnmAN. 
Scene from '' School for Scandal." 

Enter Lady Teazle and Sir Peter. 
>S^iV Peter. Lady Teazle, Lady Teazle, I '11 not bear it ! 
Ladi/ Teazle. Sir Peter, Sir Peter, you may bear it or not, 
as you please; but I ought to have my own way in everything; 
and what 's more, I will, too. What ! though I was educated in 
the country, I know very well that women of fashion in London 
are accountable to nobody after they are married. 
32* 



378 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

Sir P. Very well, ma'am, very well — so a husband is to have 
no influence, no authority '/ 

Ladj/ T. Authority ! No, to be sure : — if you wanted au- 
thority over me, you should have adopted me, and not married 
me : I am sure you were old enough. 

Sir P. Old enough ! — ay — there it is. Well, well, Lady 
Teazle, though my life may be made unhappy by your temper, 
I '11 not be ruined by your extravagance. 

Lady T. My extravagance I I 'm sure I ^m not more ex- 
travagant than a woman ought to be. 

Sir P. No, no, madam, you shall throw away no more sums 
on such unmeaning luxury. 'Slife ! to spend as much to furnish 
your dressing-room with flowers in winter as would suffice to turn 
the Pantheon into a green-house, and give a fete champetre at 
Christmas. 

Lad}/ T. La ! Sir Peter, am I to blame, because flowers are 
dear in cold weather ? You should find fault with the climate, 
and not with me. For my part, I ^m sure, I wish it was spring 
all the year round, and that roses grew under our feet ! 

Sir P. Oons I — madam — if you had been born to this, I 
shouldn't wonder at your talking thus ; but you forget what 
your situation was when I married you. 

Lady T. No, no, I don't; 'twas a very disagreeable one, or 
I should never have married you. 

Sir P. Yes, yes, madam, you were then in somewhat a 
humbler style — the daughter of a plain country squire. Recol- 
lect, Lady Teazle, when I saw you first sitting at your tambour, 
in a pretty figured linen gown, with a bunch of keys at your 
side; your hair combed smooth over a roll, and your apartment 
hung round with fruits in worsted of your own working. 

Lady T. yes ! I remember it very well, and a curious life 
I led. — My daily occupation to inspect the dairy, superintend 
the poultry, make extracts from the family receipt-book, — and 
comb my aunt Deborah's lap-dog 

Sir P. Yes, yes, ma'am, 'twas so indeed. 

Lady T, And then, you know, my evening amusements I 
To draw patterns for ruffles, which I had not materials to make 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 379 

up ; to play Pope Joan with the curate ; to read a novel to my 
aunt J or to be stuck down to an old spinet to strum my father 
to sleep after a fox-chase. 

Sir P. I am glad you have so good a memory. Yes, madam, 
these were the recreations I took you from ; but now you must 
have your coach — vis-d-vis — and three powdered footmen before 
your chair; and, in the summer, a pair of white cats to draw 
you to Kensington Gardens. No recollection, I suppose, when 
you were content to ride double, behind the butler, on a docked 
coach-horse. 

LarJi/ T. No — I declare I never did that : I deny the butler 
and the coach-horse. 

Sir P. This, madam, was your situation ; and what have I 
done for you ? I have made you a woman of fashion, of fortune, 
of rank ; in short, I have made you my wife. 

Lady T, Well, then, — and there is but one thing more you 
can make me to add to the obligation, and that is 

Sir P. My widow, I suppose ? 

Lady T. Hem ! hem ! 

Sir P. I thank you, madam — but don^t flatter yourself; for 
though your ill conduct may disturb my peace of mind, it shall 
never break my heart, I promise you : however, I am equally 
obliged to you for the hint. 

Lady T. Then why will you endeavor to make yourself so 
disagreeable to me, and thwart me in every little elegant 
expense ? 

Sir P. ^Slife, madam, I say, had you any of these little 
elegant expenses when you married me ? 

Lady T. Lud, Sir Peter I would you have me be out of the 
fashion ? 

Sir P. The fashion, indeed ! What had you to do with the 
fashion before you married me ? 

Lady T. For my part, I should think you would like to 
have your wife thought a woman of taste. 

Sir P. Ay — there again — taste — Zounds ! madam, you had 
no taste when you married me ! 

Lady T. That^s very true, indeed. Sir Peter; and after 



380 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

having married you I should never pretend to taste again, I 
allow. But now, Sir Peter, since we have finished our daily 
jangle, I presume I may go to my engagement at Lady Sneer- 
welFs. 

Sir P. Ay, there ^s another precious circumstance — a charm- 
ing set of acquaintance you have made there. 

Lady T. Nay, Sir Peter, they are all people of rank and 
fortune, and remarkably tenacious of reputation. 

Sir P. Yes, egad, they are tenacious of reputation with a 
vengeance : for they don^t choose anybody should have a cha- 
racter but themselves I — Such a crew ! Ah ! many a wretch 
has rid on a hurdle who has done less mischief than these 
utterers of forged tales, coiners of scandal, and clippers of 
reputation. 

Lady T. What ! would you restrain the freedom of speech ? 

Sir P. Ah ! they have made you just as bad as any one of 
the society. 

Lady T. Why, I believe I do bear a part with a tolerable 
grace. 

Sir P. Grace, indeed ! 

Lady T, But I vow I bear no malice against the people I 
abuse. When I say an ill-natured thing, 'tis out of pure good 
humor ; and I take it for granted, they deal exactly in the same 
manner with me. But, Sir Peter, you know you promised to 
come to Lady SneerwelFs, too. 

Sir P. Well, well, I '11 call in just to look after my own 
character. 

Lady T. Then indeed you must make haste after me, or 
you'll be too late. So, good-bye to ye. 

{Exit Lady Teazle. 

Sir P. So — I have gained much by my intended expostu- 
lation : yet, with what a charming air she contradicts every- 
thing I say, and how pleasingly she shows her contempt for my 
authority ! Well, though I can't make her love me, there is 
great satisfaction in quarrelling with her ; and I think she never 
appears to such advantage, as when she is doing everything in 
her power to plague me. 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 381 

BOB SAWYER'S PARTY, 

Mr. Bob Sawyer ; Mr. Ben Allen ; Mrs. Raddle ; Betsey. 

Scene: Bob Sawyer's Apartment. — Table with cards upon it. Tray 
filled with glasses of all sorts and sizes stands by the door, 

Allen. Well, it is unlucky she should have taken it in her 
head to turn sour, just on this occasion. She might at least have 
waited till to-morrow. 

Sawijer. That's her malevolence — that's her malevolence. 
She says that if I can afford to give a party, I ought to be able 
to afford to pay her confounded ^' little bill/' 

Al. How long has it been running ? 

Saw. Only a quarter, and a month or so. 

Al. (^Coughing.) It will be a deuced unpleasant thing if 
she takes it into her head to let out when those fellows are here — 
won't it ? 

Saw. Horrible, horrible. (^Tap at the door.) Come in ! 

Betsey, ( Thrusting in her head.) Please, Mr. Sawyer, Missis 
Raddle wants to speak to you, 

(^Disappears . Another tap at the door.) 

Saw. Come in ! 

Enter Mrs. K addle in a great rage, 

Mrs. Raddle. Now, Mr. Sawyer, if you'll have the kindness 
to settle that little bill of mine, I'll thank you; ^cause I've got 
my rent to pay this afternoon, and my landlord 's a waitin' below, 
now. 

Saw. I am very sorry to put you to any inconvenience, Mrs. 
Haddle, but — 

Mrs. R. 0, it isn't any inconvenience. I didn't want it par- 
tic'lar till to-day; leastways, as it has to go to my landlord 
directly — it was as well for you to keep it as me. You promised 
me this afternoon, Mr. Sawyer, and every gentleman as has ever 
lived here, has kept his word, sir, as of course anybody as calls 
himself a gentleman, does. 

Saw. I am very sorry, Mrs. Raddle, but the fact is, I have 
been disappointed in the city to-day. 



382 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

31rs. R. Well, Mr. Sawyer, and what 's that to me, sir ? 

Saw. I — I have no doubt, Mrs. Raddle, that before the 
middle of next week, we shall be able to set ourselves quite 
square, and go on, on a better system afterwards. 

Mrs. R. (^Elevating her voice.) Do you suppose, Mr. Saw- 
yer, do you suppose that I am going day after day to let a feller 
occupy my lodgings as never thinks of paying his rent, nor even 
the very money laid out for the fresh butter and lump-sugar 
that 's bought for his breakfast, and the very milk that ^s took 
in, at the street door ? Do you suppose a hard-working and 
industrious woman, as has lived in this street for twenty year 
(ten year over the way and nine year and three quarter in this 
very house), has nothing else to do but work herself to death, 
after a parcel of lazy, idle fellers that are always smoking, and 
drinking, and lounging, when they ought to be glad to turn 
their hands to anything that would help them to pay their bills ? 
Do you — 

Al. My good soul— 

Mrs. R. Have the goodness to keep your observations to 
yourself, sir, I beg. I am not aweer, sir, that you have any 
right to address your conversation to me, I don't think I let 
these apartments to you, sir* 

AL No ', you certainly did not. 

Mrs. R. Very good, sir; then p^raps, sir, you'll confine 
yourself to breaking the arms and legs of the poor people in the 
hospitals, and keep yourself to yourself, sir, or there may be 
some persons here as will make you, sir. 

Al. But you al*e such an unreasonable woman ! 

Mrs. R. I beg your parding, young man, but will you have 
the goodness just to call me that again, sir ? 

Al. I didn't make use of the word in any invidious sense, 
ma'am. 

Mrs. R. I beg your parding, young man, but who do you 
call a woman ? Did you make that remark to me, sir? 

Al. Why, bless my heart ! 

3Irs. R. Did you apply that name to me, I ask of you, sir ? 
(^Throwing the door wide open.) 



AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 383 

AL "VThy. of course I did. 

JTrs. R. (^Baching <jra(hi.oVy to th.e floor, and raising iter 
voice.) Yes, of course you did. Yes. of course you did. and 
everybody knows as they may safely insult me in my own ^ouse, 
while my husband sits sleeping down stairs, and taking no more 
notice than if I was a dog in the streets. He ought to be 
ashamed of himself (sobs) to allow his wife to be treated in this 
way. by a parcel of young cutters and carvers of live people's 
bodies, that disgraces the lodgings (sob), and leaving her exposed 
to all manner of abuse; a base, faint-hearted, timorous wretch, 
that's afraid to come up stairs and face the ruffi'nly creatures — 
that 's afraid — THAT 's AFRAID to come — 

(Bursts into a fj. of iceeping. and rushes ojf into another room^ 
closing the door after her icitJi a crash.) 



MR. SQUEERS AT THE IXX. --Dickexs. 

3Ir. Squeers seated at table irith his breakfast before him. 
Opposite hi.ra. in a roic, are several smcdl BoYS. 

Enter TTaiter icith a. large rang containing a very little railk, 

Squeers. (^Tahing the mug and loohing down into it.) This 
is two penn'orth o' milk — is it. waiter '? 

Waiter. That 's two penn'orth, sir. 

Sq. What a rare article milk is. to be sure, in London ! 
Just fill that mua' up with lukewarm water. TTilliam — will vou ? 

IT'/. To the wery top. sir '! Why. the milk will be drown Jed. 

Sq. Never you mind that. Serve it right for being so dear. 
You ordered that thick bread and butter for three— did you ? 

Wa. Coming directly, sir. 

Sq. You needn't hurry yourself, there ^s plenty of time. 
(^Exit Waiter with mug.) Conquer your passions, boys, and 
don't be eager after vittles. (^Goes on with his own brealfast. 
Enter Waiter vrifh the mug.) 0. that's the milk and water — 
is it, Williiim ? ^'ery good; don't forget the bread and butter, 



/ 

384 AMERICAN POPULAR SPEAKER. 

presently. ( Tasting the milk and smacJcing his lips.) Ah^ 
here 's richness ! Think of the many beggars and orphans in 
the streets that would be glad of this, little boys. A shocking 
thing hunger is — isn't it, boys ? 

J3o7/s. Yes, sir. 

Sq. When I say Number One, the boy on the left hand 
nearest the window may take a drink • and when I say Number 
Two, the boy next him will go in, and so till we come to Num- 
ber Five, which is the last boy. Are you ready? 

Boys. (Eagerly.) Yes, sir. 

Sq. . (With his mouth full.) That^s right. Keep ready till 
I tell you to begin. Subdue your appetites, my dears, and 
you^^e conquered human natur'. — (Aside.) This is the way 
we inculcate strength of mind. Thank God for a good break- 
fast. — Number One may take a drink. (Numher One seizes the 
mug^ hut has hardly commenced to drink, when Squeers calls 
Numher Tivo^ and so on to Numher Five.) And now you had 
better look sharp with your breakfast, for the coach will be 
ready soon, and when the horn blows every boy leaves off. 
(Boys eat voraciously.) Squeers looks on, picking his teeth 
with a fork. The horn is heard. Squeers jumps up, and 
produces a little hasket from under the tahle.) I thought it 
wouldn^t be long. Put what you haven't had time to eat in 
here, boys. You ^11 want it on the road. (Exeunt omnes. 



THE END. 



